Walk Like Men
by Kenya Starflight
Summary: On his way to the Lars homestead, Obiwan is ambushed and loses baby Luke. Luke is discovered and raised to adulthood... by Sandpeople.
1. Child Lost, Child Gained

**Walk Like Men**

**Kenya Starflight**

_Rated K+ (PG) for violence and language_

_DISCLAIMER: I don't own Star Wars._

_NOTE: I can't find as much information on the Tusken Raiders as I would like, so for the most part I'm making up their culture and daily life. I'll try to remain true to the movies and the Visual Dictionaries, which I see as "canon" sources, but as for the rest I'll rely on imagination._

_A few months ago I held a story contest on my blog, and one prize was being written into a story as a side character. So Wednesday42, who placed second in the contest, will be written into this story as Wind-Dancer._

**Chapter I** **-- Child Lost, Child Gained**

The twin suns of Tatooine glared down upon the parched earth and scattered, weatherworn buildings like a pair of fierce white eyes, their stare hard and unblinking. Moisture and color seemed to shrink back and flee under their scrutiny, and the beings of this planet, native and immigrant alike, avoided the gaze of the suns as much as possible. It was as if those eyes belonged to a harsh deity, and if the god observed an action or dealing that displeased him, he would arrange for the perpetrator to die under his unflinching, fiery stare.

But even gods must have to sleep, for tonight the white-hot eyes had faded to crimson as if half-lidded in sleep. Shadows lengthened, the air seemed to relax and release its heat, and beasts and sentients finally dared wander freely now that the gaze of the suns had turned away.

It was under the weary gaze of the suns that a lone swoop bike shrieked across the desert, throttle open all the way, a dozen pursuers howling after it with grim determination.

Obi-wan Kenobi glanced over his shoulder at his pursuers. Hutt-hired bikers, he theorized. Imperials would be firing on him by now. The bikers wanted him alive – the local slug obviously didn't pay well for corpses. And with a fantastically high reward posted on the head of every renegade Jedi… of course the Hutts wouldn't be at all averse to dealing with the Empire if it meant cold hard credits.

His hand unconsciously drifted to the armored capsule behind him, strapped firmly to the bike. Thank the Force they wanted him alive. If they shot, they would most likely hit the capsule…

Which could spell the doom of the precious life within – and any hope of saving the galaxy.

He leaned hard to the left to dart through a natural archway. A metallic crash told him that at least one of his pursuers hadn't been so lucky navigating the landmark. Emboldened, he continued to weave through the wind-hewn sandstone pillars with the ease of an accomplished podracer. It was by no means difficult – no worse than traveling through Corusant rush-hour traffic, really…

The Force screamed a warning. He turned to his left to face a burly human man, who had caught up with him while he'd been lost in thought. They roared on side by side, engines at full power in an attempt to pull ahead and cut the other off.

The biker heaved his bulk and the bulk of his bike to the side, ramming Obi-wan. Obi-wan flinched but kept his course steady. Again the biker slammed into him, and this time he retaliated, backing his returning ram with a thrust of the Force. His opponent's bike flipped, tossing its rider into the dirt and cartwheeling away. The biker scrambled to his feet and shrieked curses at the Jedi's rapidly receding back.

Obi-wan brushed young Luke's mind with the Force to ensure his safety. He needn't have worried – the baby was still asleep. The capsule was specially designed for transporting infants; with the help of straps, plenty of padding, and a gentle magnetic field, it kept the encased child safe and protected in case of an accident. If the capsule fell down a mountain, Luke probably wouldn't awaken… not that Obi-wan wanted to test the theory.

He turned again to check out the rest of the pack – down to nine now. He would have to throw the others off his trail somehow before resuming his journey to Anchorhead. The last thing he needed was for a swoop-bike gang to descend upon Owen and Beru Lars' household and threatening the safety of young Luke…

A churning column of blue energy slammed into his bike, and all systems went instantly dead. Sithspawn! Of course it would be his luck that one of them would have an ion cannon!

The swoop bike dropped like a rock, its heavy back end plowing into the gritty sands first. Obi-wan jumped clear, at the same time shoving Luke's capsule free of the bike with the Force before the rolling bike could crush it. He hit the sands himself, rolling to his feet almost instantly, his lightsaber ignited.

"We got 'im!" hooted the biker's leader, and the gang swooped in to bag their prey.

The Force stabbed into his senses, and he whirled.

Damnable Sith! Just my luck! 

The chase had led, of all places, to Beggar's Canyon – and the capsule had rolled to the very brink of the chasm. It hung there now, slightly crooked, vulnerable to the slightest touch…

Grimly he did the only thing he could think to do – he turned to his swoop bike and plunged his saber into the chassis, the searing blade cutting into the power coils.

The resulting explosion killed all but two of the oncoming bikers instantly, and the other two would succumb to their wounds within hours. By all accounts, the blast should have vaporized Obi-wan as well… but it hadn't.

For Obi-wan wasn't one to foolishly stick around when the situation became too hot to handle. While the power coils had still been in the process of detonating, he had flung himself clear and thrown himself after the teetering capsule. It wavered slightly… he extended his arms…

Too late. It vanished over the edge, and with a frustrated scream Obi-wan plunged after it.

Luckily, neither capsule nor Jedi had far to go. The capsule ricocheted off the cliff face a few times before rolling to a stop on the canyon floor. Obi-wan, meanwhile, landed in a graceless heap behind a scrabble of boulders, some ten meters from his charge.

Through the metal shell and padding he could hear a baby's screams. He brushed the infant's mind, sure he would find terror there. No, Luke wasn't frightened, just upset that he had woken up hungry and no one had been right there to feed him. He had missed the drama of the situation entirely.

Obi-wan heaved a sigh of relief… and of deep regret. This child had been Anakin's crippling secret, the terrible fear he could not divulge to even his Jedi Master for fear of expulsion from the Order. This had been his reason for turning to the Emperor for help, his reason for becoming… a monster. A Sith. All that he had once fought against.

And yet this child was the last hope of the Jedi Order. For he was just as strong in the Force as his father – and could very well be the savior of the galaxy if trained…

Voices and footsteps drifted his way. Someone was coming down the canyon. His hand moved to the grip of his saber, and every muscle in his body tensed as he prepared to defend Luke…

_Wait._

He froze, bewildered. Wait for what?

_Wait, _the Force seemed to murmur again. _Wait and see what they will do._

Puzzled, he remained where he was as the interlopers rounded the corner, even though the sight of them made his palms sweat around his saber's hilt.

_Break..._

Perhaps THIS was the canyon, Wind-Dancer thought, scrambling atop a heap of rubble from a long-ago rockslide. Her boots slid in the loose rock, but she bravely kept her balance as she scrambled to the very top. Easing herself to her feet, she flung her head back and gave a shout of triumph that was a high-pitched imitation of the one the warriors made when coming back from a successful kill.

"Get down from there, Cubling!" ordered Father.

She grimaced beneath her face wrap but jumped down anyhow. How she hated her child-name! But her parents insisted on calling her by it, even when she pleaded for them to call her Wind-Dancer. Only nine more summers, she consoled herself, until her Adulthood Ceremony when she could shed her child-name and finally go by the adult-name she had chosen.

"Father, is this the canyon?"

"Quiet, child," he admonished. "Sound carries far here."

"But is this the canyon where the Sky-Father split open the Earth-Mother so she could give birth to the suns and moons?"

Her father shook his head. "Not even the Sons of the Suns know that, Cubling."

"Wind-Dancer," she retorted, bending down to pick up an interesting rock.

"Not until you have eighteen summers," Father reminded her.

She huffed in exasperation, but a bright yellow rock lizard scuttled into view at that moment, and she forgot her annoyance in merry giggling pursuit of the reptile. When she had finally snared the creature, clenching it firmly in her hand to prevent its escape, she turned around to cry her triumph to Father. But he was busy talking to Mother… well, holding her was more like it. Holding her and talking softly to her as she buried her face wrap in his shoulder.

Wind-Dancer sat down on a rock to wait for her parents to catch up, opening her hand to examine her catch. But in her zeal she had clasped the little lizard too tightly, and it now hung limply over her gloved fingers. With one finger she prodded the yellow body, but it didn't even twitch. It was dead.

_Just like the baby, _she thought, and she suddenly wanted to cry again. She had been so excited when the tribe's healer had announced it was Mother's time to go into the desert and bear her child – she would finally have a little brother or sister! And when the Daughter of the Moon who would help Mother and the healer bring the baby into the world had taken Wind-Dancer aside and specifically requested that she be a guide and guardian to her younger sibling, she had been thrilled that one of the tribe's holy women had chosen her for such a task. One wasn't given the task of guardian lightly!

But then Father had chased her from the tent… and hours later, the Daughter of the Moon had taken a little wrapped bundle away from the tent and buried it. And Father and Mother had explained to a bewildered, disappointed Wind-Dancer that there would be no baby… and no need for her to play the role of guardian.

She tasted salt tears on her lips, and she wondered how long she'd been crying. For a moment she considered flinging the dead lizard away, but instead she carried it to the rock pile and buried it in the loose stones. It was only right.

The rest of the party rounded the bend in the canyon – the healer, the Daughter of the Moon, the two warriors who had accompanied them to provide protection, and the six banthas that had carried their gear. Wind-Dancer wouldn't receive a bantha until her next birth-day, but she had always had a friendly rapport with all the bantha cubs in the tribe, so she didn't really have a preference for which one she was given…

A shrill cry filled the canyon.

"Cubling!" shouted Father.

"Wasn't me," she insisted.

The warriors lowered their gaderffis and ran forward to ascertain the threat. Father scooped Wind-Dancer up before she could run after them.

"I wanna see!"

"This is a warrior's work, little one," Mother told her, her voice slow and sad. Wind-Dancer knew she was still hurting over the baby and didn't want to lose another, but it wasn't as if she didn't know how to take care of herself…

The Daughter of the Moon cursed softly and ran after the warriors, who were poking and kicking a strange shiny rock on the canyon floor. Was it Wind-Dancer's imagination, or… was that rock actually screaming?

"Leave off, fools!" the holy woman barked. "That's an outsider artifact! You don't know what it does!"

The warriors backed away warily. Wind-Dancer felt a chill spread through her nerves. Outsider artifacts were wonderful, terrible things – and you never quite knew what one would do if you found it. If you were lucky, it would dispense water or food, or provide light for your journey. But if you were unlucky, you might find yourself looking down at a stump that used to be your arm, or you might be reduced to ashes.

The artifact continued to wail, a strange high sobbing sound, but otherwise it did nothing. It was shaped like a lizard's head and metallic white in color, with a funny crack running the long way around it. Small slits had been cut in neat rows on the top as if to let in air, and at the very tip of the end facing them was a square of gray with smaller green and red squares set into it – "buttons," she thought they were called. That chilled her even more, for buttons were what made these artifacts work such miracles and madness…

The Daughter of the Moon bent down and touched a green square.

"No!" shrieked Wind-Dancer.

The holy woman laughed gently. "Don't worry, little fledgling," she assured her. "Among outsiders, green means safety and red means danger." She pushed on the green button.

Wind-Dancer braced for something horrible, but the artifact only popped open like a hatching egg. The Daughter of the Moon carefully lifted the top half and peered inside… then laughed again.

"Moon-Blossom, you must see this."

Hesitantly, her fingers twisted in her robes, Mother edged toward the artifact. The holy woman nodded encouragingly and gestured inside, and Mother bent low to see for herself. What she saw made her gasp in surprise.

"What is it? What is it?" Wind-Dancer was hysterical with curiosity.

"Stop thrashing!" Father demanded, putting her down. "Stay behind your mother!"

"Have no fear, Red-Dragon," the holy woman advised Father. "There is no danger here."

Wind-Dancer was past fear now – only burning inquisitiveness remained. She pushed the top half up higher, letting orange sunlight fall upon the artifact's contents.

It was a baby… or something that looked like one, anyway. The only babies she'd seen were wrapped up, but then, they didn't come into the world that way, did they? This child was wearing only a bottom-wrap and a tunic, both white – and it was screaming at the top of its tiny lungs.

"Father, it's a baby!" she shouted.

"A what?" He joined Mother in staring at the infant. "Outsider!"

"Stands to reason, doesn't it?" growled a warrior. "Outsider artifact, outsider baby."

The healer muscled her way past the gawkers – she was never one to be shoved out of the way of her duties – and gave the baby a swift but thorough examination. "Boy child," she observed. "No older than a week, most likely younger. And it most definitely needs this changed." She pointed to the bottom-wrap, which Wind-Dancer noticed had taken on a rank odor.

"What's an outsider child doing alone out here?" wondered Mother.

"Outsiders are barbarians, remember," Father said sourly. "Like massifs and krayt dragons, they must abandon the weaker offspring to concentrate on the stronger."

The Daughter of the Moon cocked her head at him as if amused. "So quick to judge, are you?"

Father's head jerked up in surprise. "You sound as if you're defending the outsiders…"

"Not at all," she assured him. "But the term 'barbarian' is subjective, remember."

"A barbarian is a barbarian…" began Father. "Wind-Dancer, don't touch it!"

She jerked her hand back. "Can we keep him, Father?"

Father made a shocked noise. "Keep it? An outsider? A barbarian?"

"A child," Mother corrected, and she bent down and collected the crying infant in her arms. "A defenseless baby."

Father turned to Mother. "Moon-Blossom, it will never replace the son we lost…"

She bundled the baby closely. "Maybe the spirits of the desert are at work here, Red-Dragon," she replied softly. "Maybe they took our child early because they knew this child would need our care. Or maybe they provided this child in repayment of our lost son. Would you really risk the wrath of the spirits by rejecting this child that so clearly needs us?"

Father looked about to protest, but instead he placed an arm around Mother's shoulders, holding both her and the squalling baby close.

The healer turned to the warriors. "One of you ride back to the main camp. Tell the tribe we'll be an extra day. And hurry!"

"And one more thing," the Daughter of the Moon admonished sternly. "No word of this reaches the rest of the tribe. Moon-Blossom gave birth to a son. That is all they need to know."

The warriors nodded, and one mounted his bantha and urged it away.

"I'll have a baby brother?" asked Wind-Dancer, bright hope burning in her breast.

The holy woman nodded. "It will be no easy task being this child's guardian, little fledgling," she warned. "Already I sense something very special about him. After all, he is no ordinary child."

Wind-Dancer nodded so solemnly that the Daughter of the Moon chuckled at the sight.

"You will do just fine, little fledgling," she replied. "Just fine."

"Come, Cubling," Mother told her daughter softly. "We must get your brother back to camp."

And she made a final fold to the blanket, covering the child's face… as it would remain for years to come.


	2. Wrath of the Stars

Chapter II – Wrath of the Stars 

On the outskirts of the far-flung moisture-farming community of Anchorhead, the day was just beginning. The barest silver crest of the suns could be seen over the horizon, but the dim conditions did not deter the human inhabitants – a man, a woman, and two hired hands – from their duties. Breakfast and morning routines having been completed, they now bustled about the homestead, checking the security monitors, fixing droids, and preparing speeders to check on the more remote vaporators.

None of them had any clue that they were being watched.

"Which one's the female?" asked Lizard, poking his head over the rock. "Can't tell with these outsiders…"

"Get down!" hissed Weed. "Idiot, do you WANT your head shot off?"

"Not that it would be a big loss," muttered Thunder-Cry in a voice just a step above his breath. "Not like he uses it anyhow…"

"Hey!" barked Lizard, glowering at his older companion. "I do too…"

"Shut up!" snapped Weed.

The three Tusken youths crouched behind a sand dune, watching the homestead from a relatively safe distance, lying flush with the sand to blend in as much as possible. They were taking a huge risk – outsiders loved nothing more than to shoot Tuskens on sight – but none of them feared discovery. Their banthas were tethered to a rock formation a five minute walk away, so there was nothing to betray their presences unless one of them happened to stand or one of the homestead's inhabitants happened to look at the right spot for longer than a few seconds.

If an outsider had glimpsed these young creatures and stopped to fully absorb the sight of them before shooting, they might have decided that they all looked the same. But upon closer inspection – which outsiders rarely gave a Sandperson – they would have caught the subtle differences between them. Weed was as skinny as his namesake, and one of his shoulder straps bore a dozen or so small notches to represent some achievement or other. Lizard was stockier, but not much more so, and his robe and body wrappings had suffered more abuse than those of his friends. Thunder-Cry was a good handspan taller than his fellows, broader in the shoulder, and unlike the other two he wore the warrior-spines in his head-wrap that set him apart as an official adult, worthy of his adult name.

"That one," murmured Lizard, cautiously extending an arm and pointing. "I think that's the female. The one with the blue tunic."

"That's a female?" asked Thunder-Cry disdainfully. "She's ugly!"

"No uglier than your girlfriend," teased Weed.

"What girlfriend?"

"Oh come on!" Weed laughed. "We all know how much you obsess over Rain-Singer…"

"I do not!"

"Then how come you moon over her whenever she shows her face outside her tent?" taunted Weed. "Word of advice – find someone else to worship. She's the daughter of the chief. He's going to marry her off to one of the great dragon hunters, not some desert rat who just got his warrior-spines."

"Actually, I heard my father talking about Rain-Singer," Lizard offered. "Apparently he's negotiating a truce with the Serpent Clan."

"What's that got to do with…" began Thunder-Cry.

"One of the conditions," Lizard continued, unperturbed, "is that Rain-Singer marries the son of the Serpent Clan's chief."

The three of them shared a convulsive shudder. Few Tusken tribes were as savage as the Serpent Clan – brutal and lovers of conquest and bloodshed, they were known to lead daringly suicidal raids on Jawa Sandcrawlers, the outsider's white-armored soldiers, and even towns as large as Mos Eisley. Even members of their own tribe weren't safe, for while all Tuskens honored the Suns and Moons with ritual sacrifices, the Serpent Clan's ceremonies included the obscene practice of sacrificing other Tuskens. Not just criminals, either – warriors, even children, were offered to the skies.

And most horrifying of all, rumor had it the Serpent Clan had the power to spit streams of blood at attackers, just like fire-snakes could shoot their venom…

"Poor girl," Thunder-Cry murmured.

"Poor son of the chief," retorted Weed. "Rain-Singer's no catch. She's fat and lazy and she doesn't even bother to keep her wrappings tidy…"

"Lizard doesn't bother to fix his wrappings, so why pick on Rain-Singer?" demanded Thunder-Cry.

"I try!" protested Lizard, his hand immediately moving to cover a ripped arm-wrap. "But as soon as I fix one, another gets torn…"

"Besides, Lizard's not the son of the chief," Weed pointed out. "He can be excused. But isn't the chief's daughter expected to keep up with appearances…"

Thunder-Cry sniffed. "As the only true adult present, let me remind you cubs that appearances aren't everything. Plump and untidy Rain-Singer may be, but she has a good heart. That's all I care about."

"Ha," muttered Lizard. "You just want to corner her in the newlywed tent without her face-wrap."

"Shut up, Lizard!"

"Will you be quiet!" hissed Weed. "They'll hear us."

"All right, seeing as appearances aren't everything…" Lizard pointed to one of the outsiders. "What do you think of that one."

Thunder-Cry recoiled. "Ugh! What is that on his face, mold?"

"I think they grow hair on their faces," Weed replied. "Some of them get as shaggy as banthas."

"Disgusting," Lizard groaned.

"Repulsive," Thunder-Cry agreed.

Weed watched as the hairy-faced one climbed into one of the outsiders' mechanical beasts of burden, joined by his farmhands. The machine flew off with a screeching whine, keeping low to the ground as if the presence of outsiders weighed it down. When the beast had gone – in the direction opposite the Tuskens, thankfully – Weed turned to Lizard with a cock of his head.

"Hey Lizard, take a bet?"

"No way," Lizard said at once. "Last time I took one of your stupid bets, I was shoveling droppings for a week."

"C'mon, no one will even find out!" Weed protested.

"Yeah," Thunder-Cry added, joining in on the proceedings. "We're not even supposed to be out here in the first place. What reason will we have to tell?"

Lizard eyed them suspiciously. "What's the bet?"

Weed bobbed his head. "I bet you a month's worth of doing chores that you can't sneak into the outsider's den and bring something out."

Lizard stared at him. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope," Weed replied cheerfully.

"Weed, that's not even funny," Thunder-Cry said firmly.

"You wanted him to take the bet…" Weed protested.

"I thought you'd be betting on how long it would take for the outsiders to come back because they forgot some tools, not trying to get Lizard killed…"

"Look, the males are gone, and they'll probably be gone for a long time," Weed said persuasively. "You know how they fuss over their shrines or artifacts or whatever they are for hours at a time. It's just the female down there, and we all know that outsider females are worthless fighters. And besides, it's still dark out, so no one's going to see him. What trouble is Lizard going to get into if he goes down there? Unless, of course, he's too afraid to do it…"

"I'm not afraid," Lizard insisted. "I'll do it."

"Swear it?" asked Weed.

Lizard sighed. "Fine. I swear by the Suns and the Moons."

"Struck," Weed grinned.

"And witnessed," added Thunder-Cry.

They struck palms on it. Then Lizard edged stealthily over the sand dune and stalked slowly toward the homestead.

"I hope you know what you're getting him into," he heard Thunder-Cry growl warningly to Weed. "If anything happens to him, it's you who has to answer to Red-Dragon, not me…"

Lizard hunched low to the ground as he crept toward the weird dome-shaped den of the outsiders. Let Thunder-Cry get paranoid. He was simply letting his newfound maturity get to his head. Never mind that when he still went by his child-name, he'd gotten into worse scrapes than Lizard ever had. No, now that he'd gotten his warrior-spines and adult name he knew everything there was to know about being an adult, and all his former friends were just stupid kids who were always getting into trouble.

He'd show Thunder-Cry. And he'd give him no excuse to report back to Lizard's father. If Red-Dragon found out that Weed had goaded his son into approaching an outsider's den – or "barbarian's nest," as he called it – it would earn both boys a severe punishment. It would be weeks before either of them would be able to ride their banthas comfortably again.

The silly bravado of youth that passed for bravery kept his spirits high as he approached the den's entrance, but when he finally reached the sunken courtyard and peered down he felt that bravado flee him like liquid from a slit water-skin. The horror tales exchanged around evening campfires treated the outsiders as ruthless creatures far worse than even the dreaded Serpent Clan. Lovers of warfare, greedy, obscene, ignorant of the spirits of the desert and the balance of nature, wantonly destroying and claiming… And though they had no control over the desert spirits, they still possessed some strange power in their mechanical artifacts, a power that was so great they could harness it to fly through the stars!

And he was about to go willingly into the abode of these beasts.

He would have turned around right then and there and gone back, but he could feel Weed and Thunder-Cry's expectant eyes on him. Pumping his fist in a gesture of bravery, he located a set of stairs carved into the courtyard wall and descended, trying his best to disguise his trembling knees.

The female outsider was nowhere to be seen, which was a blessing. He murmured a silent prayer to the Moons for keeping the Suns at bay long enough to hide him, then cast about for something to take back with him. He needed proof that he'd been down here…

A shimmer of silver caught his eye, and he bent to pick it up. It was a metal tool of some kind, shining and slender, nothing like the age-dulled gaderffi and knives and pots his people pounded out of the scavenged scraps of shipwrecks. And best of all – to Lizard, at least – there were no buttons, switches, or anything else on this tool that indicated it was a dangerous artifact.

Tucking the tool into a pouch on his shoulder strap, he turned back to the stairs, glancing up just to make sure his path was clear. The shroud of night still covered the sky, though the rising Suns were just beginning to chase the stars from their places. He could still clearly see the many flecks and fires of the night…

_Strange… did that star just move?_

He froze in his tracks, his heart hammering its way up his throat. A great shining star, gleaming white in the sky, slid across the dark blue of early morning, green fire sparking from it like lightning from a cloud. A smaller star hung just before it, leaving a trail of blood-red sparks as it fled the larger star.

Lizard watched in wonder. So stars could move in the heavens too. Did that make them spirits, just like the Suns and Moons? Did they lie dormant in the night, only awakening to engage in battles such as this? And how had one star managed to incur the wrath of its brother?

He had to tell Wind-Dancer about this. She would be tickled to hear about it…

His thoughts were interrupted by an insistent _push _from behind. Not a physical push, however, not hands in his back. This was almost like a strong wind only he could feel, a thrust to his spirit that his body had to obey. Without thinking he fell flat on the ground…

…just as a blast of fire seared the wall where his head had been.

He scrambled to his hands and feet and looked up to find himself making eye contact with the female outside. Her face was completely, obscenely naked to the world, as were her hands and throat. Fur covered the top of her head and hung down like a silver-black hood around her face. And in her hands she clutched a rifle – not the projectile rifles his people used, but an outsider's blaster weapon.

"AAAUUUUGGGHHH!" he bellowed, scooting away on all fours for a few seconds before he managed to scramble to his feet.

The woman shouted something at his back – something that sounded suspiciously to his ears like "And don't come back, you scoundrel!" – as he bolted up the stairs and ran for all he was worth to the sand dune that concealed his friends…

Just as the males returned in their mechanical beast.

"By the eyes of the Moons, what did you do?" demanded Thunder-Cry.

"Worthless fighters my eye, Weed!" he screeched, vaulting behind the dune just as the outsiders redirected their course to pursue the Tuskens. "That female almost scorched me!"

"And so you led them right to us!" howled Weed.

"Nice going, dewback-breath!" growled Thunder-Cry. "Quick, let's try to lose them!"

"How?" panted Lizard as they bolted across the desert, the soft sands hampering their feet. "The banthas are too far!"

"This way!" Thunder-Cry ordered, leading them to another dune.

The younger Tuskens followed their elder comrade over the sand dune and into the trough between two of the rises. Together they hunched low, heads down, hands and feet sunk into the sands, only their backs offered to the sky. With the outsiders looking for fleeing Tuskens, not sand-colored lumps in the dunes, it would be harder for them to be spotted… but not impossible. They could only hold their breath and pray the Suns would have mercy on foolish youth.

At long last the weird cry of the mechanical beast faded, and with sighs of relief they extracted themselves from the sand.

"That was too close," Thunder-Cry exhaled.

"You should talk," Lizard humphed. "You weren't shot at."

"I don't suppose you remembered the bet in all your stirring up trouble," said Weed, dusting off his hands on his robes.

"Oh yeah, here." Lizard plucked the tool from its pouch and handed it over.

"I don't believe it," Weed grinned, taking the item and examining it carefully. "You did it!"

Thunder-Cry cocked his head. "You almost got shot by an outsider for THAT? You're braver than I thought."

"Ha ha," Lizard grumbled sarcastically. "Let's get to the banthas."

Weed glanced up. "Uh-oh."

"What do you mean 'Uh-oh?'" demanded Lizard.

"Here comes your sister, Lizard."

"Oh great," he groaned, turning in place.

"Oh, don't sound so happy to see me," a merry female Tusken advised, kneeing her bantha to a halt about five bantha-lengths from the boys. Veiled in the elaborate wrappings and robes of her calling as a Daughter of the Moons, she was so bedecked with beads, animal teeth, and outsider-pilfered jewelry that she clattered and jangled with every move. Her bantha, an elderly silver-haired creature appropriately named Slowfoot, also chimed musically with every ponderous step, his harness and horns gleaming with bells and rattles. And in place of the gaderffi typically carried by all Tuskens over the age of twelve summers, she wielded a staff carved from the leg bone of a krayt dragon, etched with the runes and symbols of the many rituals her order carried out on a regular basis.

"I just happened to find your boys' banthas," she continued in her cheerful manner, gesturing to the beasts tethered in a neat row behind her. "So I figured I might as well catch up with you and return them."

"Don't fool us, Wind-Dancer," grumbled Thunder-Cry, reaching to grab the reins of his dark brown beast Crusher. "You're looking for volunteers for your next stupid Moonlight Ceremony…"

"Now now, Thunder-Cry, participating in the Moonlight Ceremony is a privilege, not a punishment," she chided. "It's a good means to burn off your excess energy, you know."

"Getting chased around by psychotic priestesses isn't my idea of a privilege," snapped Weed, vaulting onto his sand-colored Archer.

"You just have no sense of fun…" Her gaze rested on Lizard. "Hold still, little brother, you have a bad rip."

Lizard, who was just getting one leg up onto Cyclone's back, froze. Slash it all! Not only had he almost gotten himself and his friends killed by outsiders, he'd managed to tear his wraps escaping from their den! The penalty for exposing flesh, even accidentally, was banishment…

Wind-Dancer leaned over to reach her brother's arm, wrapping a piece of cloth around the torn area and knotting it securely. "That should hold until we get home and can repair it."

"Thanks," he sighed gratefully. "I owe you."

She cocked her head slyly. "Help us with the Moonlight Ceremony?"

"Sure, whatever." He climbed fully onto Cyclone's back. "You're not going to tell Father about this, are you?"

She cocked her head to the side. "I don't know. As a family member and your guardian, I'm obligated to protect you from harm. And yet, as a Daughter of the Moons, I'm also obligated to report infractions of Tusken laws to the appropriate parties. And seeing as you three deliberately approached a known outsider den, quite contrary to the chief's edict…"

The three boys groaned.

"I judge this a severe enough infraction that it not be turned over to your parents, but dealt with by a holy woman. And seeing as I'm the only available holy woman at the moment, I hereby declare the three of you shall serve sentry duty for the next moon."

Thunder-Cry groaned again, but Weed and Lizard sighed in relief. So long as they wouldn't have to endure their fathers' switches, they would do anything, even groom Wind-Dancer's bantha, to make restitution for their troublemaking.

"Now you two head back to camp," she ordered Weed and Thunder-Cry, gesturing to the northwest. "I have things to discuss with Lizard. Family matters, not for your ears."

"Tell him off good for us," advised Weed, and he and Thunder-Cry kicked Archer and Crusher into full gallop.

Wind-Dancer urged Slowfoot forward at a more sedate pace, Cyclone plodding alongside. The sky took on a pinkish hue as the Suns cast their bright robes upon the land, gradually warming the air and throwing back the shroud of night. The rolling dunes gave way to hard-packed ground as fissured and cracked as a dewback's egg about to hatch, with flame-red cliffs gleaming in the distance. Lizards and snakes fled before the heavy tread of the bantha's feet and the warming touch of the sun that would shortly grow harsher.

"I sense there's something you wanted to tell me, Lizard," she said at last.

Lizard explained what he had seen back at the outsider's den. Wind-Dancer listened attentively, nodding every now and again.

"So could it mean that the stars are… alive?" he concluded.

Wind-Dancer considered. "The Sons of the Suns and the Daughters of the Moons have long declared the stars to be without spirit," she said slowly. "It could very well be that we have been wrong all this time, and the stars indeed play a role in the heavens – a small role, but a role."

Her declaration did not startle Lizard in the least – Wind-Dancer was always like that. While the Sons of the Suns were sticklers for tradition, the Daughters of the Moons tended to throw tradition to the wind and would question everything relentlessly. And while Wind-Dancer was no renegade, she was also infamous for routinely throwing out highly controversial ideas that even most Daughters of the Moon would balk at.

"Or," she continued, her voice growing uneasy, "it could be that the outsiders are at work."

Lizard tilted his head at a puzzled angle. "I've seen their ships fly overhead. They look nothing like stars."

"Not when they're very high up," she replied. "When they fly so high that air itself vanishes and the Earth-Mother is but a golden jewel to their eyes, they do indeed look like stars. Often they are small and faint, like the one that shot red sparks in your story, but a bright one…" She shuddered. "It would mean a ship far larger than I have ever seen or heard of to be a star that bright."

Lizard mulled that over. "Do you think more outsiders will be coming? Will they try to form new dens and new hives?"

"Cities, Lizard," she corrected. "Not hives, but cities. And there have been no new cities built in these parts for over forty summers. I don't see why a new one would suddenly spring up." She shook her head. "No, whatever goes on is for outsiders, and outsiders only. It is not our problem."

"Should we tell the tribe?"

She laughed. "Oh, Chief Stone-Shadow has enough on his plate to worry about than what a few fool outsiders are doing up in the sky. The truce and the wedding, you know."

"Oh." A thought suddenly occurred to him. "The wedding isn't going to interfere with… you know…"

"Your birthing-day and your Adulthood Ceremony? Never fear, my brother. A wedding can be delayed. A birthing-day cannot. You'll have your Adulthood Ceremony, and you'll receive your name and calling." She cocked her head slyly. "You still haven't told me what name you want…"

"Like I keep telling you, I haven't decided yet! I've tried out several, but… none seem to fit."

"Fine, you don't have to tell me if you don't want," she said in a mock pout. "But you'd better choose carefully. You'll be dragging that name around the rest of your life, remember."

"I've dragged 'Lizard' around for long enough," he complained. "Honestly, I thought parents were supposed to love you."

She laughed. "Come now, child-names are a protection. They prevent dark spirits from taking your soul by protecting your identity. And really, what dark spirit wants a lizard's soul?"

"Still, I'm tired of embarrassing myself by responding every time some kid announces he's caught a lizard." He sighed deeply. "What I'm really worried about is the calling. I mean, I don't want to be stuck as a bantha-herder all my life…"

"In all honesty, my brother, I think you'll be recruited as a Son of the Suns."

He gave a wounded moan. "That's even worse."

"Come now, it's a perfectly respectable…"

"But there's nothing exciting about it! Sons of the Suns have power, sure, but they can't do anything with it! They can't marry, can't fight or hunt or go on raids, can't leave the encampment without having to purify themselves for a week afterward… they can't even eat meat, for the sake of the Moons!"

She laughed. "Whereas the Daughters of the Moons are free to do whatever they please, to the eternal envy of the other women of the tribe." She gave a sympathetic roll of her shoulder. "Unfortunate that there is no calling for a Son of the Moons, but everyone knows the Moons only choose daughters while the Suns only choose Sons."

Lizard wished it otherwise. He had witnessed and even helped with many of the Daughters of the Moons' ceremonies, and he had found them exhilarating. But to be a Son of the Suns and spend his days scratching in the sands, meditating, studying shadows and animal tracks for hours on end to divine the future, seemed completely pointless. He would rather be a warrior, or a guard, or a dragon hunter, or a raider… stang, even a consort to a Daughter of the Moons would be better!

But if Wind-Dancer had declared him an ideal candidate for a Son of the Suns, then there was no arguing it. For like all Daughters of the Moons, she had a powerful gift… and hers happened to be that of soulsight, of looking into a person's soul to divine their intentions and destinies.

"Chin up, my brother," Wind-Dancer said gently. "I've been wrong before. And you can always put in an appeal."

"Ha," huffed Lizard. "Remember what happened when Fire-Stalker appealed. He was married and had a child by the time they chose a new calling for him, and it was worse than the first."

"Then learn to make the best of it," she advised. "Come now, let's have some fun. Race you back to camp."

"On your old fat cow?" he taunted, feeling his spirits rise at once at the prospect of a race. "I'll run circles around her." And he kicked Cyclone into a run.


	3. Meeting an Outsider

**Chapter III -- Meeting an Outsider  
**

The _Tantive IV _shuddered under Threepio's feet, making him rock unsteadily. His metallic arms flailed as he struggled to regain his balance. Only by placing a hand atop his counterpart's dome was he able to stay standing.

"We're doomed," he whimpered, straightening and continuing his shuffle-run down the corridor, hopefully away from the fighting. "There'll be no escape for the princess this time…"

Artoo beeped.

"I'm not being paranoid, Artoo, I'm simply stating a fact. They've caught us, don't you see? How can we hope to…"

A hand clasped his arm and jerked him into a side hallway. His wail of terror was cut off by a slim hand over his Vocoder.

"Artoo, get in here," his captor whispered.

The astromech droid chirped quietly and slid into the passageway. Only when he had joined them did Princess Leia drop her hand, motioning for Threepio to keep his voice down.

"Princess, I believe we've been caught in the _Devastator's _tractor beam…" Threepio began.

"I know," she replied. "Which means a change of plans."

"Change of plans?" repeated Threepio, puzzled.

Artoo beeped inquiringly.

"No, you won't be going down alone," Leia told him. "I'm going with you."

"Going down where?" demanded Threepio.

"Down to the planet's surface," Leia replied. "To Tatooine. There's someone there we need to meet."

"But Princess…" protested Threepio.

"Would you rather stay here and deal with Lord Vader?" she inquired, arching an eyebrow.

Threepio shuddered, quite a sight for a protocol droid. "No, your Highness."

"I knew you'd see it my way." She pulled the interpreter down the hallway. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"To an escape pod."

Blaster fire whined in the distance as the battle began, and as if that were a signal the unlikely threesome picked up their pace. To have their ship shot down was one thing, but to be captured by the feared Vader was something else entirely. The former would mean an instant death; the latter… slow death if you were lucky.

The escape pods were securely locked, but it took Artoo all of twenty seconds to hack open the security panel. Leia let the smaller droid toddle in first, then pushed Threepio after him. She ducked in just as a crack of blaster fire erupted over her head.

"Stop them!" came the electronically distorted voice of a stormtrooper, but his command came too late. The pod had jettisoned.

Leia sat back, taking a deep breath of relief. They had escaped… and the plans were safe. For now, at least.

"Artoo, can you pilot this thing?" she asked.

The droid beeped affirmatively.

"Perfectly well," Threepio translated. "Or so he says," he added doubtfully.

"Good." She pulled a small datapad from her belt pouch and checked it. "I'm giving you coordinates for our destination. The plans have to go to an Obi-wan Kenobi, no one else."

"Excuse me, Princess, might I inquire what's going on…" began Threepio.

The escape pod thrashed wildly, and alarms blared as the occupants were tossed brutally around. The pod spun, out of control, into Tatooine's atmosphere, as helpless as a nuna chick before the crouching form of the Stardestroyer _Devastator…_

_Break..._

Aboard the _Devastator, _a pair of watchful eyes studied the pod's descent through an obsidian-black visor, silent save the ominous hiss-whoosh of a respirator, still save an unconscious flexing in the fingers of his right hand.

"There goes another one!" exclaimed the gunner. "One life form!"

"Shoot it down," ordered the bridge officer.

The gunner oblidged, squeezing off several rounds. The pod spun crazily from the glancing impact.

"No," thundered Vader, glowering at the bridge officer. "Let it go. Note where it lands and send a detachment down to retrieve it. I want the occupant alive."

"Yes sir," the officer replied in a much subdued voice, and he slipped away as quickly as decorum would allow.

Vader spun on one heel and strode away from the bridge, his pulsing respirator his only sound. The Princess had certainly grown bold in her rebellion. No longer quietly content to ease things along behind the scenes, she was now daring brash missions to aid the criminal Rebellion, first intercepting the stolen Death Star plans, then ferrying them to this remote corner of the galaxy... quite unbecoming of a princess, actually.

But _very _becoming of a young Skywalker.

A grim smile tightened his lips. Bail Organa only thought he had hidden young Leia safely from her father's view. In actuality, Vader had known the girl's true identity the moment he had spied her as an energetic eight-year-old at a Senatorial banquet. Even if her Force-signature had not betrayed her as a being of considerable power -- obviously an inheritance from her biological father -- her facial features, her brown hair and eyes, and her tendency to devote her entire energy, heart, and soul to a project all labeled her as a daughter of Padme Amidala.

So their child had lived. The thought made something he'd long thought dead burn in his chest. This was their daughter. He knew this for a fact -- he had even confirmed it through a surruptious DNA test that neither Leia nor Bail knew anything about. He had a possible heir to the Skywalker name... and a possible future apprentice.

Now if he could just convince her to join him...

He would deal with that when the moment came. For now, all that mattered was obtaining her -- alive. If those bungling clones damaged her in any way, he would see that their final moments were exquisitely painful.

He opened the door to his quarters. Time to prepare for a visit to his old homeworld. The thought of setting foot on Tatooine again was not a pleasant one... but it was necessary to ensure Leia's capture. If she escaped him this time, there might not be another opportunity.

_I have waited a long time for this day, my daughter, _he thought. _A long time indeed._

_Break..._

When Lizard and Wind-Dancer arrived back at the camp, they turned their banthas loose with the rest of the tribe's herd and went their seperate ways. Lizard had chores to finish before the suns set, and Wind-Dancer needed to prepare for her role in tonight's Moonlight Ceremony. Their paths would most likely not cross again until dinner.

Lizard stopped by the supply tent to collect a water-skin and a satchel for his noon meal, then joined Weed and the other boys as they wandered the sands around the camp, collecting any scrap of dried vegetation or outsider debris that looked remotely flammable. Fuel was as scarce -- and consequently just as precious -- as water in the deserts, and gathering enough to feed tonight's cooking fires, not to mention those fires needed by the night sentries and the Daughters of the Moons, was often an all-day task. And that task generally fell on those boys and young men who had not yet received their adult names or callings.

"Why don't the women and guards do the collecting?" complained Weed, using his gaderffi to hack the carcass of a shriveled cactus into manageable pieces. "They're the ones who use it all the time. Sands, I'd eat my meat raw and go without bread if it meant not having to pick up this garbage..."

"The women have other things to do," replied Lizard. "Weaving, sewing, mending, cooking, tending the sick, taking care of the littlest ones, teaching the girls to do it all too..."

"The night sentries have nothing to do all day, let them gather fuel."

"What do you think they do all night, sleep?" Lizard retorted, picking up fragments of cactus and stuffing them into his bag. "They need the day to catch up on their rest."

Weed sighed gustily. "Then I guess there's no helping it, we're stuck out here."

Lizard just shook his head. "Yes, it's the most deadly boring job in the camp. But we won't be doing it forever. Our birthing-days are coming up fast."

"I still have two more moons," retorted Weed. "Yours is in just two weeks. Lucky stiff."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to turn into some holier-than-thou snob like Thunder-Cry did. I'll still be your friend."

"Let's hope so." Weed picked up the last piece of cactus and retied his gaderffi to his shoulder. "Rubble said they found a crashed freighter about an hour from camp. The metal collectors have declared it safe. Maybe we can find something burnable in there."

"Lead the way."

Weed started off, but Lizard paused a moment to take a look back at their encampment. Nearly fifty small, dome-shaped family tents formed a ring in the sands, encircling the larger community tent, supply tent, and Temple of the Suns, which despite its regal-sounding name was simply another large tent with two pale circles sewn into the hide. The women, children, and guards flitting between tents on their daily business looked like ants from this distance, the dewbacks wandering around and even through the camp like beetles. Off in the distance, the reptile-skin tent that housed the Daughters of the Moons gleamed in the morning suns, though unlike the rest of the camp there was no movement about it.

At length he turned away and followed his friend. The encampment was home to him -- and yet he could never quite shake the feeling that there was something more to his life. It wasn't as if he hated life here. But oftentimes he would find his gaze shifting to the horizon, to the cliffs that marked the edge of his tribe's territory... and sometimes beyond. He would feel a peculiar yearning, a strange desire he could never put words to, and he would wonder if, perhaps, his calling would be something far more than anyone, even the Sons of the Suns or Daughters of the Moons, could guess.

Or maybe he was just having grandiose visions of the future. Maybe he really WOULD become a dull, plant-chewing, dirt-scratching Son of the Sun. He shuddered at the vision of himself in five or ten summers, behind planted in the dust, robes and wrappings ragged and dirty, fixated for hours on the shadow cast by a pebble in hopes of divining the future from it. Sure, the Sons were revered for their wisdom, but how could they stand such a pointless existence?

It was strange -- in the daily life of Tuskens, the men did the dangerous, exciting work such as hunting, raiding, guarding, and scouting, while the women handled the mundane camp chores. And in the family tents, it was the men who governed the families, while the women were expected to answer to their wills. Yet the roles seemed reversed for the priests and priestesses -- the Sons of the Suns bowed to the wills of the Daughters of the Moons, who seemed to take great relish in bossing any male, not just a Son, around. And while the Sons' job of viewing coming events and predicting attacks, storms, and the like was as essential as the camp work, it couldn't compare to the magics worked by the Daughters of the Moons -- the summoning of rain, the blessing of children, the driving away of beasts and outsiders.

If only there really COULD be Sons of the Moons... but that was impossible. Such a selection was unthinkable, against the very laws of nature. There was no point in wishing it to be so.

When the suns reached their zenith he opened his satchel containing a ration of dry meat and bread. He carefully moistened a strip of meat with his waterskin, laid it between two flat chunks of bread, and lifted his face-wrap just enough to bite into it. Weed, too, was eating as he walked, though he tore into his meat without softening it first.

"That's disgusting," he complained.

"You've eaten worse," replied Weed.

Lizard opened his mouth to fire off a retort... when a streak of light marred the sky.

"Did you see THAT?"

"See what?" mumbled Weed through a full mouth.

"It looked like a shot from an outsider blaster... there it is!"

"By the Suns!" exclaimed Weed.

The swath of light plummeted toward the horizon, trailing light and smoke behind it. As the two young men watched, agape, it dropped behind a chain of dunes and vanished from sight.

"It looked like a star," marveled Lizard. "A falling star."

Weed grabbed Lizard's arm. "Let's have a look. Where's the harm?"

"Uh... I dunno," he replied unsurely. "This might be work for the Daughters of the Moons."

"Then let's go tell your sister!" Weed insisted. "I'm DYING to know what that thing is!"

Lizard hesitated a moment. Their fuel-bags weren't even full yet! But if that had truly been a falling star...

"Back to camp," Lizard agreed. "I'll talk to Wind-Dancer."

_Break..._

Red-Dragon and Wind-Dancer were talking in the family tent when Lizard threw back the tent flap, bursting with the news.

"Father, Wind-Dancer, a star fell!" he babbled. "Out by the dunes, Weed and I saw it!"

"What the blazes are you talking about?" demanded Red-Dragon.

"A falling star?" repeated Wind-Dancer, cocking her head to one side. "Describe it."

"It shed fire and smoke as it fell," he explained, raising a hand to indicate the object's trajectory. "It just kind of... fell to the earth. In a streak of light."

"Slowly or quickly?"

"Somewhere in between. It was incredible."

She nodded. "I'm sure it was. But from what you've told me, that's no falling star."

"It's not?" he asked, slightly crestfallen.

"But I can see how you would mistake it for one. No, it sounds like some outsider contraption. Perhaps one of their ships crashed in the desert. At any rate, it's a job for the scouts and metal collectors, not the holy women."

"An outsider ship?" His hopes rose a bit. It wasn't exactly as monumental as a star, but to see a real outsider ship before the Jawas could get to it...

"Don't get any ideas, Lizard," Red-Dragon said sternly. "From what I hear, you've had more than your share of misadventures with outsiders lately."

"How did you know..." He glared at his sister.

"I wish, Father, that you would not phrase your words in a manner that falsely implicates me," Wind-Dancer sighed.

"Forgive me, Daughter." He turned back to Lizard. "It was Thunder-Cry that alerted me to your escapade today. What under the suns were you thinking, boy? Going INTO an outsider den? You were practically asking to be shot!"

"I didn't go into the den!" Lizard protested, which was sort of the truth.

"From what I hear, you got close enough to steal something. What did you make off with anyhow?"

Lizard withdrew the shining tool. Wind-Dancer gave a slight cough of noise as if suppressing laughter, but Red-Dragon only gave the item a precursory glance before nodding sharply.

"Not dangerous. For a moment I thought you'd brought a bomb or some other evil into camp."

"Father, this has already been handled," Lizard protested. "Wind-Dancer has already punished me."

"She has the right to do that," Red-Dragon acknowledged. "But we must still discuss it to some extent. I want to ensure your safety, Lizard."

"You're making this such a big deal, Father..."

"I'm making it a big deal because it IS one! The next time you approach an outsider, he may not hesitate before he pulls the trigger! Do you WANT to be blown to bits?"

"I'm not going to be blown to bits tomorrow, the scouts'll be there..."

"You KNOW I dislike you prodding around with outsider things, Lizard..."

"What's the problem? It's not like I'm planning on running off and joining the outsiders..."

Immediately he knew he'd gone too far. Red-Dragon's entire body went hard with tension, and Wind-Dancer's hands suddenly flew up to her collarbones. Lizard wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere, preferably far from camp. He supposed he should be thankful Moon-Blossom wasn't here to witness this, she would most likely be hysterical...

"Do not say that again," Red-Dragon growled. "Even in jest. And stay away from the outsider ship. That is an order." He nodded at Wind-Dancer. "If your brother's going to be helping with the ceremony tonight, take him away and prepare him. Moons know he'll need it."

Wind-Dancer grabbed Lizard's arm and hustled him out of the tent.

"What's his problem?" demanded Lizard. "He's completely overreacting over everything..."

"Lizard," Wind-Dancer said softly, "Sandpeople do not go among the outsiders, and for good reason. They hate us. They're convinced we're some form of evil. They claim this land as theirs, and they see us as interlopers, even if the reality is the other way around. Tusken men and women have tried to live with outsiders, and they have always failed. It is not something to joke about."

"Still, I was telling the truth. It's not like I'm going to..."

"I know, brother. I know." She clasped his shoulders affectionately. "We just worry about the baby of the family, I suppose."

He smiled slightly under the face-wrap. "Sorry. I guess I just get tired of being coddled. I'm hoping that'll change once I'm an adult."

"You're the youngest-born," she replied, tapping the end of his mouth-piece with an index finger. "It will never change, not for our family. Might as well get used to it."

He thought on his sister's words while they walked toward the reptile-skin Moon Tent. "Father says that outsiders have lived among Tuskens before. And you Daughters of the Moons use outsiders in your Moonlight Ceremonies. How is that any different from a Tusken living among outsiders?"

She was silent for a few minutes. "An excellent point, Lizard. And something to think about."

_Break..._

The moons were full and bright tonight, their star-studded black cloaks spread far and wide across the sky, their radiance bathing the sands and the still tents of the Tusken encampments in silver light. But around the tent of the Daughters of the Moon, the silvery moonlight had to compete with amber and gold firelight from a circle of bonfires. The throbbing of drums, the chime of bells, and ululating chants and songs filled the cool night air with an intoxicating energy. Daughters of the Moons talked and laughed among themselves even as they set up the final preparations for the ceremony, erecting fluttering snakeskin banners on long bone poles and drawing designs in the sands.

Lizard stood off to one side, awaiting his role. In his hands he held a woven leather cage containing several flappers, the colorful winged lizards that inhabited the rocky wastes. His fingers trembled with excitement despite his grip; even though he'd done this countless times before, it still thrilled him every time. These ceremonies were vital to calling on the attentions of the good spirits, to gaining the favor of the moons for the benefit of their tribe, and to know he'd had some small role in them...

Wind-Dancer emerged from the Moon Tent, accompanied by an outsider man. This was not unusual in the least. The Daughters of the Moon always inducted an outsider into the Moonlight Ceremony whenever there was a full moon -- though he wasn't sure whether having an outsider present was mandatory or if it was just a way for the Daughters to mess with the minds of the outsiders. The outsider, usually an unlucky moisture farmer or some henchmen of the Hutts, was normally dragged, bound and terrifed, into camp, and allowed to leave unbound and stone-drunk on cactus-fruit wine, wondering what in hell had just happened to him.

But this outsider was different. He wore no bonds, and he seemed perfectly at ease among the Daughters of the Moons. Wind-Dancer must have sensed his confusion, for she led the man over to Lizard to make introductions.

"I don't believe you've met my brother, Lizard," she said with a degree of fondness. "He's been absent from the full-moon ceremonies for awhile. Lizard, this is a friend of ours, Obi-wan Kenobi."

"Hello, sir," Lizard greeted, nodding.

"Good evening, young man," Obi-wan replied in the Tusken language, smiling warmly. "Nice to see you... at last."

"I have to go start this affair," Wind-Dancer told him. "So why don't the two of you talk a bit, get acquainted?" Before anyone could accept or object, she was off.

"Your sister is quite the young lady," Obi-wan noted. "Spirited, headstrong... a touch eccentric, might I add?"

"Yeah, but all Daughters of the Moon are that way," Lizard replied. "Why should she be any different?"

Obi-wan laughed. "Right."

The drums picked up in tempo, and Wind-Dancer, resplendant in her beads and chains, wearing a headdress of stiffened bantha hair dyed in blues and silvers, stood before the fire and sang in deeply stirring tones, her voice appealing to the moons. Younger Daughters of the Moons waved the snakeskin banners back and forth, and dancers spun and gestured about the fires, lending their voices to Wind-Dancer's haunting melody.

"So when did you start helping my sister out?" asked Lizard.

"About six months ago," Obi-wan replied. "I was watching your tribe -- Tuskens have always fascinated me, you know -- and I made the mistake of stumbling into their clutches. They made it known to me that they had no intention of hurting me, but they needed my aid in their ceremony. I was in no position to argue, so I played along... and enjoyed myself to such an extent that I requested they come see me the next time they needed a volunteer."

Lizard whistled. "You were lucky. If it had been other tribes, you'd be dead by now. The Scorpion tribe used to sacrifice outsiders to the moons, sometimes by torturing them to death."

"Used to? So they don't anymore?"

Lizard shook his head. "The Scorpion tribe doesn't exist anymore. Rumors say they were all slaughtered in the night after one such sacrifice. Some say it was an outsider seeking vengeance... but others say it was one of the suns or moons, taking on fleshly form to mete out punishment."

Obi-wan was silent. Lizard glanced over to see a look of deeply troubled thought on the old man's face. But upon realizing he was being stared at he smiled, chasing the expression away.

"Don't worry about me, Lizard," he assured him. "I'm an old man, and sometimes my mind wanders to things inappropriate for the time."

"How old are you?"

"Old enough to know better than to get mixed up in this sort of thing."

Lizard couldn't help it -- he burst out laughing. Obi-wan laughed as well, and the laughter seemed to erase years from his seamed face.

"Are you a farmer?" asked Lizard. "Or do you work for the Hutts?"

"Neither, young man. I simply live here, learning what I can, watching over my corner of the desert. It's a harsh world, this, but I've grown fond of it despite myself."

"You're saying you're from another world?"

"I have been to many worlds, Lizard, and seen much in my lifetime. No, this is not my homeworld. It is, however, the homeworld of a close friend of mine."

"Does your friend live here?"

"Not anymore." He smiled fondly. "He was an exceptional pilot and a cunning warrior... and he was a good friend." And sadness overcame his features again.

Lizard wanted to ask so many questions, but the music was reaching a cresendo, and Obi-wan seemed to recognize his cue.

"Ah, looks about time for me to play my part."

One of the older Daughters of the Moons strode forward and handed Obi-wan a bundle of dried plant stalks. She chanted in a low tone as she drew the bone staff of her calling, touching the end to the outsider's forehead and heart, weaving her free hand in complex gestures. About this point the subject would normally break down into confused hysterics or attempt to bolt and be dragged back, but to Obi-wan's credit he stood calmly and bravely, not even flinching when she swung her staff so energetically she nearly clobbered him in the head.

At last, with one last flourish of her staff, she snatched the bundle from his arms, whirled, and cast it into the fire. Sparks and an aromatic smoke flared upward, and at that signal Lizard opened the cage in his arms, letting the flappers dart into the sky and toward freedom. The firelight winked off their shining scales until they resembled multicolored stars.

The ceremony was over, but some of the Daughters continued dancing and singing, while others passed around skins of cactus-fruit wine and fruit-sweetened bread. Lizard considered staying for the rest of the festivities, but he remembered his sentry duty tomorrow and turned back to the camp.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, young Lizard," Obi-wan told him. "I hope to see you again soon."

"Next full moon," Lizard replied.

"Hopefully sooner. I enjoyed talking to you."

Lizard started to walk away, then stopped. "Obi-wan... that friend of yours. What was his name?"

Obi-wan hesitated as if unsure, then shrugged. "Skywalker. His name was Skywalker."

Wind-Dancer strode up at that moment and took the outsider's arm. "I'll escort you home, Obi-wan."

"Very well. Good night, Lizard."

Lizard strolled back to camp, the conversation with Obi-wan still playing around in his mind.

_Skywalker... Skywalker... not a bad name at all... _


	4. Three in the Cave

**Chapter 4 -- Three in the Cave**

Wind-Dancer urged Slowfoot over a final rise, bringing Obi-wan's home in sight. A tiny stone hut that appeared totally abandoned from this distance, it shone silver-white in the light of the moons. Strange how the moonlight brought out the hidden beauty in even the humblest of objects.

"Your brother has grown up to become quite the young man," Obi-wan remarked from his perch on the back of the saddle.

"'Quite the young man' is right," Wind-Dancer replied. "He's stubborn, adventurous, and gotten into so many scrapes it's a wonder he hasn't been eaten or shot by now."

Obi-wan laughed a little, but privately he thought that it wasn't so much of a wonder that Luke had survived his various mishaps. Rather, it was a sign that the lad was being watched over by the Force... and perhaps was beginning to unconsciously grasp his innate power.

"Do you think your plan is working?" Obi-wan asked. He knew the real reason behind inducting young Tusken men and outsider captives into the Moonlight Ceremonies -- it wasn't a requirement of the "spirits," but an effort to show the rising generation of the tribe that outsiders weren't the barbarians the elders considered them, as well as an attempt to show the outsiders that the Tuskens were not the vicious monsters they believed them to be.

"I can't tell if it's working on the outsider end," Wind-Dancer replied. "At least the young men of our tribe aren't terrified of being drafted into the Ceremonies anymore. They think it amusing rather than horrifying that we actually involve outsiders in our rituals."

"I can tell you that it has worked for this outsider," Obi-wan replied. "By becoming directly involved with your people, you have shown me that Luke is in no danger here."

Wind-Dancer bristled slightly. "His name is Lizard. He ceased to be Luke when Mother accepted him as her child." She turned to give him a penetrating look that he felt even through her face-wraps. "You didn't tell him, did you?"

"Of course not," he replied evenly. "He's not ready for the burden."

She relaxed slightly... but only slightly. "Obi-wan, you have been a friend to me. You have taught me much about the outsiders and helped me shed my fear of them. And I am grateful for all the help you have given our tribe. But please, for the good of our family, let Lizard's past remain the past. He's my brother and my parents' son. He is Tusken. And nothing good can come of tearing him away from everything he knows."

Obi-wan sighed. Here lay his considerable disadvantage as a Jedi. He had never known a family outside of the Order and so, unlike Luke -- or Anakin, for that matter -- he could not sympathize with someone who had lost a loved one or was forced to choose between family and the greater good. He had no idea how deeply attached young Luke was to his Tusken "family," and so he had no idea how much it would affect him were he to discover they were only caretakers and not flesh and blood.

Had he erred in leaving Luke with the tribe for so long? Should he have attacked the Tuskens that day in the ravine to win the child back? Had he stayed with his aunt and uncle, he would still have had family ties to grapple with, but at least he would know something of the truth about his past...

But fighting Wind-Dancer's family for the baby would have accomplished nothing, either. Though Obi-wan was a skilled fighter, he would have been no match for six adult Tuskens. He would have been killed, and Luke either injured in the fray or left to die. Allowing the Tuskens to adopt Luke as their own had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, and he had had little choice... but at least it had helped the lad survive this long.

"You remember what I told you about Lu... about Lizard, young Wind-Dancer," Obi-wan said at length.

"That he is destined to save the galaxy," Wind-Dancer replied softly. "I remember."

"You know that in order to accomplish that goal, he cannot stay with your people forever."

"I know." She brought Slowfoot to a halt before the house. "But why can he not go as a Tusken? Why shatter all he believes in and tell him that not only is he one of the outsiders he fears, but his father is a monster? I saw your light-pictures..."

"Holos," Obi-wan corrected.

"I saw your holos of what Lizard's true father has become. Why tell him his father is that beast, that night-demon who kills for pleasure? It will break him!"

"I have no wish to hurt your brother, Wind-Dancer," Obi-wan told her gently. "But he has a destiny beyond your homeworld to fulfill. You know that."

She sighed. "Yes, I do. But that doesn't make it any easier."

Obi-wan dropped from Slowfoot's back, landing lightly with the aid of the Force. "Promise me, young Wind-Dancer, that when Luke asks about his place in the universe, that you will answer honestly. You don't have to tell him who his father is. But tell him he has a destiny beyond Tatooine that he MUST achieve. For all that is good depends upon it."

She gazed at him, the aloof gaze of a feline. "I will promise that only if you promise not to plant ideas in his head. If he asks, let him ask of his own free will. Don't whisper it in his ears hoping to speed it along. Let it happen in its own due time."

"Very well. It is agreed."

She nodded. "It is agreed, with the moons as our witness." Placing a hand to her heart, she gave Obi-wan a final bow. "May the Sky-Father, Earth-Mother, and suns and moons watch over you."

"May the Force be with you."

She snorted. "You and your talk of the Force..." She hauled Slowfoot around and urged him on his way.

Obi-wan watched the young Tusken priestess fade to a silver blur against the moonlight-whitened sands. She was his sole, tentative ally in his efforts here, for among all the Tuskens only she both knew of Luke's heritage and had enough grasp over the Force to understand it. But she loved Luke as if he were truly her brother, and that tie could very well be enough to hold Luke back from his destiny. The galaxy needed Luke Skywalker as a Jedi, not as a desert nomad on an Outer Rim world.

He would cross that bridge when he came to it, though. He had waited eighteen years now -- what were a few more weeks?

_Break..._

The blistering heat of the suns pounded down on the sentry's shoulders like a white-hot rockslide as he and his bantha stood at the crest of the dune, surveying the horizon for anything out of the ordinary. A strong wind picked up generous loads of sand and blasted it at the pair, beating at the young Tusken's robes and the bantha's thick fur as if hoping to penetrate those protective shields and get at the tender flesh beneath. But neither the heat nor the mild-to-moderate windstorm perturbed them -- they had stood through worse and come out none the worse for the wear. Besides, they were creatures of the desert. If they couldn't withstand this, they weren't worthy to be called natives.

Sky-Walker nudged Cyclone forward, and they paced down the slope of the dune to scout out a new area. Though ten days remained before his Adulthood Ceremony, the young man formerly named Lizard had decided to call himself by his adult name until then. That way, when the time came for others to address him as Sky-Walker, he would already be used to it.

_Will they think it odd that I got the idea from an outsider? _he wondered. His father detested outsiders and his mother feared them...But then, no one had to know where he had come by the name, did they?

He placed a hand inside his robes and withdrew a leather thong from which hung the outsider tool he had stolen yesterday. Red-Dragon had vehemently protested him wearing the item, but in the end had acquiesced, mostly to appease Moon-Blossom. Sky-Walker didn't see what the trouble was. Hunters and raiders wore bones and claws and teeth taken from their conquests and kills all the time. Metal collectors saved choice scraps of metal to adorn themselves. Even the Daughters of the Moon wore jewelry crafted from items discreetly filched from their outsider "volunteers." Why should he be forbidden from doing the same?

Two more dunes, and he would be in view of the outsider ship. He was forbidden from approaching it, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a look from a distance. He wondered how large it was, and if the outsiders within it had survived...

A honking, cracking cry attracted his attention, and he turned to his right to see Weed and his mount Archer charging across the sands, the young Tusken bellowing at the top of his lungs, an irate dewback in hot pursuit. No doubt Weed had managed to enrage the creature by approaching its nest. Sky-Walker refrained from rolling his eyes as Thunder-Cry, haughty as he was, would have done, but he made no move to descend the dune and help him. Weed was perfectly capable of taking care of himself in a situation like this. What more, by the time he had gotten back to camp he would have hewn a new notch in his shoulder strap to mark this accomplishment... and by nightfall the dewback would have transmuted into a krayt dragon and the tale of youthful escapade would have been woven into a terrifying horror story of his narrow escape from the ravenous jaws of death.

But then, that was Weed for you.

Sky-Walker urged cyclone up a final dune, bringing the ship into view. Already the crash site was swarming with Tuskens, some hacking pieces of plating from the ship's sides and loading it into baskets to transport back to camp, others busy chasing a gaggle of eager Jawas away from their prize. It was like watching massifs and womp rats and other scavengers at a ronto corpse, with the larger beasts claiming their share and the smaller scrounging what they could from the bones of the kill.

He sighed and turned Cyclone away from the scene. Well, that had been anticlimactic. He had pictured one of the hulking behemoths that were so often seen flitting to and fro around the outsider cities. But this ship was so small --barely the size of his family's tent back at the camp, if that -- he couldn't even begin to conceive how an outsider could fit in it and travel from star to star. And plain besides, no wings or blaster-weapons evident. Were he an outsider, he would be ashamed to be seen in the thing.

Lifting his water-skin, he pulled back his mouth wrapping just enough to take a much-needed sip of water. Cyclone grunted, and he took the time to quickly dismount, wet his glove, and rub the moisture onto the bantha's sensitive lips. While most of the beasts' hide was shielded from the elements by thick shaggy fur, including the tiny eyes, their lips were exposed and vulnerable, requiring frequent wetting to keep from cracking and bleeding. Tusken scouts, hunters, raiders, and anyone else venturing far from camp on bantha-back carried extra water on them at all times, both for themselves and for their mounts. A bantha was considered part of the tribe, and neglecting or abusing the animal was as much of a crime as beating or starving a child.

Remounting, Sky-Walker nudged him into a walk. Nothing suspicious here. Time to continue on. No sense wasting time...

A flash of gold caught his eye, and he stopped Cyclone and squinted in the direction of the odd sight. With all the sand flying around, it was hard to make out anything definite...

There. Most definitely metal. And it had come from the cliffs...

It was only a half-hour journey to the cliffs, but it gave Sky-Walker plenty of time to consider. He had heard stories of outsiders who wore costumes of white metal to protect themselves, though he had never seen one. Could this be an outsider who opted for a change in color? Or was it simply an item discarded by some careless outsider? No, nothing that small could have been visible from this distance. It had to be at least man-size.

The cliffs offered some shelter from the storm, and he took advantage of this by directing Cyclone's path until it hugged the cliff base. He kept on guard, gaderffi at the ready. Curiosity and duty had brought him this far -- curiosity to discover what this object was, duty to attack or inform the tribe if necessary -- but from here on out caution would get him farther. He had been accused enough times of carelessness. He wouldn't give anyone cause to accuse him THIS time...

A fissure in the cliff face marked a natural cavern of some kind, just wide enough for a particularly fat person to slide through. He whistled, bringing Cyclone to a halt and onto his knees, then swung his leg over and dismounted. Giving the bantha a "stay" command, he clutched his gaderffi and stepped inside.

The passageway opened up just four steps deeper, forming a room of some kind. He couldn't determine size or contents, however, as it was almost totally dark. He began to turn around to fetch his flint.

A hideous screech knocked him flat on his backside, and he scrambled back as something blared an incoherent stream of clicks and screams and other, weirder sounds. Staggering to his feet, he dashed back for Cyclone and flung himself over the beast's shoulders, intending to ride away as fast as possible. A monster! And one that made a sound like THAT couldn't be a natural beast, but a product of the desert spirits...

A voice made itself heard over the bizarre cries and the moaning wind... an outsider voice. It had a slight metallic tone to it and spoke as sternly as Red-Dragon, chiding in the complex babble of the outsider's tongue. Sky-Walker paused, stunned, one leg still lying parallel to Cyclone's spine in a half-mount. Was the outsider _rebuking _the monster? Giving orders to a demon-beast?

Gold flashed in the sun again, and the outsider's head, shoulders, and left arm emerged from the cavern and studied the young Tusken. Covered in plates of gold metal that were rapidly dulling from exposure to the brutal elements, he was of middling height and moved stiffly, as if arthritic from old age. The face mask had a slit of a mouth and solid eyepieces that resembled the eyes of a startled Jawa. That amused Sky-Walker somewhat -- Tusken face wraps were made for convenience, but also to terrify their victims. What purpose did this outsider achieve by wearing a mask of fright? Sympathy, perhaps? If that was the reason, he highly doubted it worked.

For a long moment the two regarded each other, unmoving save the flapping of the Tusken's robes. Then the outsider raised a hand as if in welcome.

"Hello," he said tentatively, speaking in the Tusken tongue. "I am See Threepio, _human-cyborg_ relations."

"Hyoo-mahn... sssi-borg?" repeated Sky-walker. Those two words had been spoken in outsider tongue, and they twisted on his tongue as he attempted to manage them with his lips.

"Oh, forgive me," See Threepio murmured, inclining his head in a rigid bow. "Of course you wouldn't know, being Tusken... let me start over. I am See Threepio. And who might you be?"

"My name is Sky-Walker," he replied. "I saw metal over here and came to investigate." Feeling bolder now that he knew something about what he was facing, he slid back down Cyclone's side and faced the man. "What is your purpose here, outsider? If you mean harm to my tribe..."

"Oh, of COURSE we mean your tribe no harm, Master Sky-Walker!" Threepio exclaimed, raising both hands now as if to surrender. "We only seek shelter here. Our escape pod was too badly damaged to provide protection from the storm..."

"Then it was you who flew that ship," Sky-Walker realized. "Who crashed yesterday."

"Indeed it was." Threepio peered back inside the cave as if checking on something. "Though to tell the truth it was my... oh, you don't have a word for _counterpart, _do you? My... friend was actually doing the flying."

Sky-Walker craned his neck to look around Threepio's body. "How many of you are there in there? That pod was so small, I can't imagine you sharing it."

"Oh, the pods can fit up to six people if they really need to, but there are only three of us..."

The screech sounded again, and Sky-Walker jerked back as a squat beast appeared from behind Threepio, continuing to spout angry noise at the Tusken. Encased in battered blue, white, and silver metal from head to foot, it had a squat, cylindrical, upright body and three limbs -- two sprouting from his shoulders and a third that was little more than a foot at the bottom of its body. Curiously, the creature seemed able to move without moving any of its legs, gliding forward as effortlessly as a snake. A single red eye, pupil-less like an insect's, glowed fiercely, and the strangely neckless head rotated from side to side as if to size up the young Tusken from all angles.

"Artoo Detoo!" exclaimed Threepio, glowering down at the creature. He addressed the thing sharply in his own tongue, then turned back to Sky-Walker and spoke apologetically. "I'm most terribly sorry, sir. He can be very stubborn."

"You can communicate with... that?"

"Oh, of course I can. I am fluent in over six... em, you don't have a word for _million, _do you... I am fluent in many languages on this world and many other worlds, Artoo's included. But he understands Basic well enough."

"I don't speak Basic," Sky-Walker said with a shrug. "But tell him he doesn't need to fear me."

Threepio spoke a little more with Artoo. The creature hummed thoughtfully, then turned and went back inside the cavern, apparently satisfied.

"Where's your other friend?" asked Sky-Walker. "You said there were three."

"Oh... well now..." Threepio turned to look back in the cavern. "I am afraid she is not doing well... the crash injured her, you see..."

Sky-Walker ducked inside the cavern. "Maybe I can help her. I'm no healer, but..." He squinted. "I'm going to need a light. Let me go get my flint..."

"Oh, Artoo can provide a light," assured Threepio. "Let me speak with him..."

Artoo seemed happy to comply, and a brilliant white light issued from his head. Sky-Walker had to shield his eyes with a hand for a moment until he was used to the illumination. When he glanced around the cavern, he saw a natural chamber roughly the size of the family tent, bearing no signs of animal habitation. A pile of what he took to be outsider artifacts was stacked in the back, and in the middle...

His breath caught in his throat. She was clad in a flowing white garment, smudged here and there with dirt but no less beautiful for it. A belt of silver accentuated her waist, and white boots clung to her small feet. Deep brown hair had been gathered into a bundle on each side of her head, though tufts and strands had worked themselves free. And her face... he had always been taught that to expose one's face was shameful and obscene, and in the past spying an outsider's naked face had turned his stomach. But he found himself drawn to this outsider's face in a way he couldn't describe. The features were smooth, even, finely set as if by a master sculptor. He felt himself drinking in the sight, studying every curve and slope of the nose and cheekbones, the narrow patches of fur over the eyes, the cupped ears. For the first time, he saw the appeal of a bare female face.

He reached out to place a hand on her shoulder... and drew back as Artoo grated out a strange sound. Was he GROWLING at him?

"Artoo!" scolded Threepio, babbling in outsider tongue. Artoo responded only by aiming a sound at his friend that closely mimicked the sounds children made with their lips at the elders when they thought they weren't listening.

"Threepio, tell him I mean her no harm," he ordered. "I want to help her, not take her captive. I would like him to call me friend." On impulse he added "And tell him my name."

The effect on the little creature was incredible. His head spun so that the sole red eye regarded him intently, and he gave a squeak of utter astonishment. After a moment of intense, uncomfortable staring, Artoo finally gave a cheerful chirrup of sound and drew back, focusing his light on the woman. All the same, Sky-Walker kept an eye on him as he continued to inspect the outsider. Thank the Sky-Father Wind-Dancer had taught him something about healing and first aid!

"She's dehydrated," he observed, pinching the skin of one hand and watching it tent over the bones. "When did she last drink?"

"I'm not certain," Threepio replied. "Most definitely not since yesterday."

"Then go out to my bantha and get the water-skin," he told the man.

"Me?" squeaked Threepio.

"Cyclone won't hurt you, don't worry."

"But there are Jawas out there... we barely escaped them last time..."

Artoo, despite not grasping the Tusken language, seemed to understand what Sky-Walker wanted, and he slid out the door, returning a minute later clutching the water-skin with a tiny arm that sprouted from his head like a scorpion's pincer.

"Thank you," he told the beast, taking the proffered item. "Threepio, help me sit her up."

With some effort Threepio knelt beside the woman, and together they raised her upper body enough to avoid choking her with the water. Sky-Walker gently parted her lips and dripped water between them. She swallowed reflexively, then opened her eyes.

Sky-walker gulped. Those warm brown eyes electrified him, striking him to the core as surely as if he'd been struck by lightning.

"Oh, _Princess Leia,_" murmured Threepio. He said something encouraging and waved in Sky-Walker's direction.

The woman's gaze moved to the Tusken, then to his neck. She whispered gently... then closed her eyes and drifted back into unconsciousness.

"What did she say?" breathed Sky-Walker.

"Oh dear," Threepio said, sounding torn between amusement and horror. "Uh... she remarked that you seem to have a _spoon_ hanging around your neck."

Sky-Walker lifted the silvery item and studied it. "What's a spoon?"

"It's an eating utensil," explained Threepio. "For eating... oh, you don't have a word for _soup _either..."

Bantha fodder. He'd hoped this item would be a memento of courage... and it was an eating tool. He felt like an utter fool.

"I can't find any blood or broken bones," Sky-Walker said after inspecting her head and limbs for injuries. "I don't know how to look for internal injuries though."

"Neither do I. I am not... no word in Tusken for _programmed, _is there... I was never taught how to tend to injuries." He seemed to collapse on himself. "And we've been chased all this way only to fall apart and die on this desolate rock..."

That caught his attention. "Who's chasing you?"

Threepio struggled with what to say -- not because he wasn't sure or because he wanted to hide something, but obviously because it required words that were not in the Tusken language.

"Never mind then." He sat back on his heels. He would have to think about this. He had found this woman; it was his responsibility to deal with her. Deciding what to do with her was the problem.

It seemed wrong to kill an injured outsider... and even if she weren't injured, he couldn't bring himself to think about harming her deliberately. He couldn't take her back to camp, either -- she would be slaughtered on the spot. The Daughters of the Moon might help... and they might not. They were as unpredictable as desert winds, and he couldn't be certain that they wouldn't just turn her over to the tribe to deal with. Leaving her here wasn't an option either, for even if he could ferry supplies out here every day, her injuries would eventually take their toll...

Artoo rocked back and forth, uttering his peculiar speech.

"He says he is looking for an Obi-wan Kenobi," Threepio translated, "and that he might be able to help Mistress Leia."

"Lay-ah," Sky-Walker repeated, savoring the name as he looked down at her. The sound of it was like a breath of cool wind, like the rush of a sacred spring...

Then his head jerked up. "Obi-wan Kenobi?"

"Pardon me, sir, but you know him?"

"Yes, he has helped the Tuskens before." He slapped a hand to his forehead, the dull thud of cloth on cloth echoing through the cave. "Why didn't I think of that before? He'll help you out. If I just knew where he lived..."

Artoo squealed eagerly, continuing to rock like an excited toddler.

"He says he knows where he lives!" Threepio shouted, relieved. "And he can take us to him!"

"Excellent!" Sky-Walker bent down and collected the woman in his arms. Sands, she was light. "Help me wrap her face so the wind doesn't damage her. Then let's get her on Cyclone."

_Break..._

Obi-wan was just about to give up his onerous sweeping job once and for all. Fighting the winds of Tatooine seemed completely pointless on this front. No sooner would he have the detritus of one storm cleared out of his house than another storm would blow in and deposit its load inside his doors, paying special attention to machinery and cloth surfaces. He would have thrown up his hands in surrender long ago, but a distaste for slipping on sand-slick floors and sleeping on gritty sheets kept him at his frustrating war with the winds.

He was shaking out his laundry outside at the moment, and he had just paused for a drink when a curious combination of sounds -- and a touch of the Force -- alerted him to an approach. He raised his head to better view the visitors.

The sight was at once so shocking and so absurd that it would be branded into his memory. A cheeky astromech droid was wheeling over the sands as fast as his design would allow, beeping and crooning as he led the way. Lumbering behind was a red-brown bantha, curiously expressionless despite being the only member of this unlikely party currently capable of facial expression. On the beast's back was a young Tusken man, wrappings tattered, a spoon hanging from a leather thong around his neck, his gaze constantly leaving the path to gaze into the face of the unconscious, white-garbed woman on his lap. Clinging to the Tusken's shoulders for all he was worth was a scuffed gold protocol droid, talking incessantly.

Obi-wan found his voice at last. "Lizard, what in the galaxy..."

"She's hurt!" the boy insisted, sliding down the bantha's shoulder with Princess Leia cradled in his arms. "She's hurt and I can't take her back to the tribe, they'll kill her! Please, I know you can take care of her..."

Obi-wan raised a hand to silence him, then moved over to inspect Leia. Stars, she had grown into a beautiful young woman. He had so hoped to meet her again... but he had never expected her to arrive in the arms of her brother.

"She has a concussion," he noted. "It's a brain injury. Only time will tell the extent of the damage, though I don't expect it to be severe."

Lizard went limp with relief. "Can I leave her here with you? I have to get going back, the evening meal starts soon."

"Go on, Lizard. Leave the woman and the droids with me."

There was a wail from Threepio as, struggling to dismount on his own, he fell from the bantha's back and in a graceless heap on the ground.

"Droids?" repeated Lizard, cocking his head.

"I'll explain later. Go home, Lizard. May the Force be with you."

"Thank you so much!" He turned back to his bantha, then paused and turned back to Obi-Wan. "Oh, by the way, I picked my adult name, so I'm not Lizard anymore. I'm Sky-Walker."

Obi-wan received his second shock of the day. "Sky-Walker?"

"Yeah, you told it to me last night, and it sounded great. Sorry if it offends your friend at all... anyway, I have to run. See you next full moon!"

And the boy was gone.

Threepio shuffled over to stand by the Jedi. "Sir, might I inquire what's going on?"

"What's going on," Obi-wan murmured, "is that the Force is accelerating things. Which can mean good... or ill."

_Break..._

The shuttle touched down in Mos Eisley Spaceport, the evening light gleaming in cold splendor on its silver finish. A dark figure disembarked, flanked on each side by a dozen stormtroopers, their armor shining in the double suns. The owner of the docking bay, on his way to demand payment, paled and stood aside as the Dark Lord swept by. A cluster of drunken smugglers scattered like birds from a hunting hound at the sight. Even the most brazen of the citizenry gave the party plenty of berth as they stalked through the streets, not wishing to bring more attention their way than necessary. Tales of Vader's savagery and prowess had reached even this far from the Core.

_She is not here, _Vader thought,_ smiling grimly. She is not stupid, that is certain. She would not chance a city, for the Empire's presence is there._

That left the deserts to scour, a far more difficult task. The Dune Sea and Jundland Wastes were vast and full of dangers -- sarlaacs, dragons, tribes of savages, the brutal elements, and gangs of swoop bikers, to name a very few. And as Vader extended his senses he found, not a single Force-strong presence, but scattered flecks and pockets of Force-sensitives which would make it all the harder to track down his daughter.

Two Rodian children who had been fighting over a toy spaceship caught sight of Vader, froze for a brief moment, then fled screaming in terror, leaving the object of dispute behind. A black steel boot crushed the thing, the owner of said boot unaware and uncaring of what was in his path. Only the thought of finding Leia commanded his thoughts.

_You cannot hide forever. I will find you. And you will stand by my side as my apprentice. It is your destiny._


	5. NightDemon

**Chapter 5 -- Night-Demon  
**

One sun had already slid halfway beneath the horizon by the time Sky-Walker rode into camp, urging the tiring Cyclone on with shouted encouragements and gentle kicks. Dungheaps, he was going to be in for it now. Traveling to Obi-wan's territory and back had eaten up far too much time...

"There you are," came the imperious voice of Thunder-Cry, striding up to the younger Tusken with his hands on his hips. "What kept you?"

"Since when were you made my babysitter?" complained Sky-Walker, sliding down from Cyclone's side and slapping him gently to indicate he could go join the rest of the herd.

"C'mon, Lizard," Thunder-Cry ordered, motioning for him to follow. "To the community tent. The chief's addressing the tribe."

Sky-Walker paused a moment, startled. Well, THAT was news. The last time the chief had gathered the tribe together unexpectedly had been five years ago, when the sacred spring had mysteriously gone dry and he had had to reassure the Tuskens and warn them to use their water wisely. Could it have ceased running again? Or was there another crisis? Had another tribe encroached on their territory? Had the Serpent Clan reneged on its truce and attempted an attack? Or -- his guts squeezed painfully -- did this have something to do with the outsider ship and its occupants?

The two young men ducked into the community tent to find it packed to bursting. Everyone from the strongest warrior to the grungiest bantha herder stood around the central fire, where smoke curled toward the escape slit in the ceiling. Thunder-Cry moved to stand beside his fellow hunters in the back as if distancing himself from his childhood friends. Sky-Walker pushed through the crowd and slipped into the front row, standing between a metal collector draped in glittering plates of steel and a Daughter of the Moons wearing a chain of snake's teeth and a dewback-skin cape over her intricately embroidered robes. Weed spotted him across the fire and gave a friendly wave, which Sky-Walker returned eagerly.

Chief Stone-Shadow moved to stand before the fire, which cast his wrappings and robes in an amber light. Taller than the average Tusken, with broad shoulders and a hint of a limp from an encounter with an enemy tribe years ago, he was a physically impressive sight. His body wrappings were alternating strips of cloth and snakeskin, and a necklace of dragon's teeth bore a pendant made of a painted lizard's skull against his chest. His gaderffi was wrapped in strips of hide and decorated with bone beads and teeth. A hush fell over the tribe as his gaze moved to seemingly make eye contact with each and every member of the tribe, taking in the assembly before speaking.

Sky-Walker couldn't help but feel a certain awe at the sight of the chief. A wise and powerful leader, Stone-Shadow had governed their tribe fairly and justly for longer than Sky-Walker had been living. He had been a cunning warrior in his youth, apparently, until his Adulthood Ceremony had named him the heir to the chiefdom. When Stone-Shadow died and his spirit was borne away by the winds to the Realm of the Suns, he would leave behind a vacancy his replacement would be hard-pressed to fill.

"My people," Stone-Shadow said in a powerful voice that carried to the far ends of the tent, "over the years we have stood strong against many adversaries. We have faced drought, sandstorms, ground-shakes, battles with enemy tribes, and attacks by outsiders, and every time we have emerged not only intact, but stronger, as a piece of metal is brought out of the fire more finely tempered than before. We have not only survived in the face of danger, we have prospered."

"Get on with it," muttered someone just behind Sky-Walker.

"I bring you together to ask you to continue being strong," Stone-Shadow continued. "For our scouts bring news... and our Sons of the Suns see events that could forever alter the future of our tribe." He spread his arms dramatically. "My people... war is at hand."

War! That brought a hiss of speculation from the entire tribe. The Redrock Tribe had not faced war since Sky-Walker was too young to remember. Skirmishes with other tribes, yes. Raids by the lawless, barbaric Serpent Tribe, yes. Encounters with mischief-minded outsiders, yes. But war?

He noted curiously that the Daughter of the Moons on his left seemed completely unperturbed by this news. In fact, the only Tuskens not shifting nervously or whispering to their fellows were the priestesses, who seemed totally bored by the proceedings. Did they know something the tribe didn't?

"Hunter Thunder-Cry," Stone-Shadow announced, motioning to the corner where he knew the Tusken in question was standing, "was serving as a sentry when he saw and alerted the tribe to the danger we now face. Thunder-Cry, tell us what you saw."

Thunder-Cry strode forward as arrogantly as if he were the rightful chief here and not Stone-Shadow, going to stand beside the chief. Weed made a mocking gesture behind the two mens' backs, one many saw but few took offense to. Thunder-Cry was not well-liked among the tribe -- pride was considered a terrible weakness in a Tusken. And standing at the chief's side without his invitation was considered terribly rude -- only the priests, priestesses, and a few of the mightiest warriors could take advantage of that without permission. The only reason no one protested aloud was because they were too intent on whatever news he had to offer.

"I was standing upon the cliff overlooking the human settlement of Mos Eisley," Thunder-Cry announced, "when I saw a ship landing."

"Ships land all the time in the human camps!" shouted an older man dismissively. "Why should this one be any different?"

"Because normally the ships swarm like flies over the city, seeking a place to land. This time, all other ships moved to make room for it."

Sky-Walker snorted. So? Maybe it was a very important outsider in the ship. Why did it concern the tribe?

"Then I decided to investigate the crashed outsider ship," he went on. "There, I discovered footprints leaving the wreckage that were definitley not Tusken. Whoever was in that ship is alive... alive and wandering our territory."

People began murmuring again. Sky-Walker tried not to look too conspicuous. He knew exactly what had been in the ship...

"I think whoever's in that ship is looking for whatever crashed here," Thunder-Cry finished.

"How can you know that, young pup?" demanded one of the raiders. "So we find the outsider and get rid of them! How does this mean war?"

"You may go, Thunder-Cry," Stone-Shadow told the young man, waving his hand dismissively. "I would not have thought much of Thunder-Cry's report... except that a vision witnessed by our Sons of the Suns confirms what he suspects."

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The Sons of the Suns were considered poweful seers, and they could divine the future from anything -- the scattered ashes of a fire, the track of a snake across sand, even the movement of a shadow across the ground. But for one to experience a vision was very rare... and of great import.

A snort on his left grabbed his attention, and he turned to see the Daughter of the Moons shaking her head disdainfully. Strangely enough, that calmed him down a bit. If the Daughters of the Moons did not fear the coming crisis, why should he?

"Son of the Sons Light-Drinker," Stone-Shadow said by way of introduction as a frail Tusken tottered forward to stand by the fire.

Sky-Walker couldn't suppress a slight shudder at the sight of the priest. Most Tuskens, while they didn't gorge themselves, at least ate regularly, and they replaced their wrappings when they became too soiled or tattered. Light-Drinker was a classic example of the Sons. While he was no means elderly -- he was younger than Red-Dragon, actually -- he looked and moved like an old man. Endless hours of sitting in the sun awaiting signs of the future seemed to have baked him dry like a piece of old leather, and his patched and ragged wrappings were spotted with unsightly stains. Little flesh padded his bones, as the Sons frequently fasted for days while awaiting visions or omens. And while the chief, Daughters of the Moons, and others in the tribe set themselves apart by ornamenting themselves according to their calling, the Sons of the Suns were conspicuous in their lack of ornamentation. They even eschewed the warrior-spines all other male Tuskens received upon adulthood.

_Ugh, if I'm made a Son, I'm definitely appealing._

"During our meditations today, the Sons saw the coming of a night-demon," Light-Drinker announced, spreading his arms as if to encompass the entire tribe. "One with the power to kill with a thought, one that comes to our lands hungry for power, desperately searching for something." He trembled as if caught up in the thrall of his remembered vision. "He came under the guise of an outsider, commanding an army of the barbarian warriors, searching, searching..." His voice trailed off.

Sky-Walker shuddered despite himself. Night-demon! Those were the most dreaded creatures of all, the most treacherous and deadly foes of the suns and moons. When Threepio had mentioned they were being chased, he hadn't said anything about a night-demon!

"What did the night-demon look like?" asked Weed, morbidly curious.

The Son shuddered again and spoke in a dreadful whisper. "Sheathed in gleaming black from head to foot, an evil black mask disguising his twisted face, armed with a blade crafted of blood-colored starlight, a voice like summer thunder and breath like a serpent's hiss..."

A harsh sound cut off the flow of words and made the entranced Tuskens jump and whirl to face its source. It was laughter, coming from the mouth of the Daughter of the Moons standing beside Sky-Walker. Not just a snigger, but full deep-chested laughter that mocked the Son of the Suns' words. And she wouldn't stop, not even when both Stone-Shadow and Light-Drinker glared at her. She just continued to laugh, head back, arms folded imperiously across her bosom.

"Impertinence," hissed the offended Son.

"Star-Thief," Stone-Shadow barked, "contain yourself at once."

"Oh, you certainly are the actor, Light-Drinker," she said amusedly, taking her own sweet time regaining her composure. "You very nearly had me convinced that the outsiders had allied themselves with the night-demons."

"But they have!" protested Light-Drinker. "The night-demons have the outsider barbarians in their power! And they will snuff all the light out with them! Including your precious moons, might I add!"

That only set Star-Thief off again. The entire tribe stared, agape, at the Daughter of the Moons as she continued to chortle. The Sons of the Suns glowered as if longing to set aside their "no fighting" vow long enough to wring the priestess' neck. Stone-Shadow planted his fists on his hips, waiting for the woman to finish.

"The problem with you Sons," Star-Thief said in a voice ringing with mirth, "is that you take your premonitions of the future SO literally."

"All right then, lady, let's hear YOU interpret the vision!" sneered a teenager Sky-Walker recognized as Scrub, one of Thunder-Cry's hangers-on before he had become an adult.

Star-Thief stepped forward, stopping at Stone-Shadow's side so the chief was standing between the priest and priestess. She turned to face the tribe and spoke.

"The Sons of the Suns did indeed see a being in black," she informed the tribe. "A being with a mighty voice, a blade of light, and a power beyond imagining. But this man is not a night-demon. He is an outsider."

"A night-demon in the guise of an outsider!" insisted Light-Drinker.

"Don't be ridiculous," scoffed another Daughter of the Moons. "Since when did night-demons start taking on man form?"

"There's always a first time," muttered the metal collector just beside Sky-Walker.

"The Daughters of the Moons have had contact with outsiders from time to time," Wind-Dancer announced, stepping forward to align herself with her fellow holy woman. "They tell us much about life beyond our lands. This man the Sons of the Suns have seen and described is indeed an outsider, though one with the power of the suns and moons at his command."

"Impossible!" insisted Red-Dragon. "No outsider can harness the power of the suns and moons!"

Wind-Dancer ignored her father. "This man is dangerous, yes. He is cunning and ruthless, yes. But a threat to the lights of the world... no. He comes only to find what he seeks, and once he has found that it is quite possible he will never return to our land."

Star-Thief nodded appraisingly at the younger Daughter of the Moons. "Wind-Dancer is correct. We have nothing to fear from this outsider so long as we leave him be. The Daughters of the Moons suggest we simply stay out of the black-armored outsider's path and let him go about his business."

"Are you insane?" demanded a much older Son of the Suns, pushing Light-Drinker aside and shaking a fist in Star-Thief's face. "Have the moons finally driven your entire sisterhood mad? If we do nothing, as you suggest, this night-demon will come upon us in our sleep, cut our throats, and feast on our blood! He will abduct our children and devour them at his leisure! He will tear the very suns and moons from the embrace of the Sky-Father and crush them forever, leaving our lands forever in darkness and the night-demons free to roam at last!"

Screams from the women of the tribe filled the room, and a few children began crying in terror. The tribal healer's apprentice, who happened to be standing behind Luke, fainted into the arms of the startled raider behind her.

"There you go again, White-Serpent," sniffed Star-Thief. "You see a lizard and cry 'Dragon!' and get the entire tribe worked up over nothing. Waging war against this outsider and his white-armored warriors will accomplish nothing. In fact, even if we succeed in defeating him, all we would have accomplished would be to incur the wrath of the outsiders and bring an army against us -- an army we could not hope to defeat. You know the outsiders are as numerous as flies..."

Stone-Shadow stepped between the holy man and woman before White-Serpent could launch into a frantic tirade. "Calm yourselves, my friends," he ordered. "Fighting amongst ourselves will do nothing save dull our senses."

The Son of the Suns and Daughter of the Moons subsided, still glaring at each other. Sky-Walker looked from one to the other in bewilderment. The Sons and Daughters had never really been on friendly terms, but he had never seen them this divided over an issue. And while he wanted to believe the Daughters' claim that this intruder was harmless, especially as his sister was a Daughter, he couldn't deny that the Sons' prediction of doom was a horrifying one. Wouldn't it be better to err on the side of caution and eliminate the one in black before he could do any damage?

Especially if it kept the outsider woman in Kenobi's care safe?

"Knowledge you may have of the outsiders' ways, Daughters of the Moons," Stone-Shadow continued. "But knowledge of the future is not your strong point, I am afraid. And in this case, I prefer to believe the Sons, if only to keep my people safe."

The Daughters of the Moons began muttering and shifting on their feet. By far, though, the most obvious reaction was Wind-Dancer's. She jerked as if she had been shot when Stone-Shadow made his next announcement.

"In a week, my daughter, Rain-Dancer, weds the son of the chief of the Serpent tribe, forging a bond of trust between the Redrock tribe and Serpent tribe. Then the warriors of Redrock and Serpent will find and destroy this man, be he night-demon or outsider, before he has a chance to work any evil upon us."

_Break..._

Leia awoke with a wince. Her head was pounding mercilessly. Her mouth was dry, and a nasty taste lingered on her tongue. She was loathe to open her eyes, not wanting this pleasant darkness to end...

"Princess Leia."

That voice... She opened her eyes, squinting against the painfully bright light. She found herself lying on a small cot, covered with rough sheets and a threadbare blanket. And sitting beside the bed, smiling gently at her, was a white-haired, bearded old man with a kindly smile and worn brown robes.

"General Kenobi," she said gratefully. "You found me. I thought I'd never reach you."

Kenobi laughed. "Actually, Princess, someone else found you. And then they found me." He gestured to another figure sitting on the other side of the bed.

Leia rolled over... and gasped. She had seen holos of Tusken Raiders before, and they had seemed frightening creatures. Their masked faces seemed to be frozen into terrible snarls, and their gaderffi staffs were rumored to be wicked weapons in their hands. But this one was unarmed, and the cock of his head suggested curiousity and wonder rather than agressiveness. Unlike the holos she was familiar with, he lacked the spine-like ornaments atop his head, and most strangely of all, he wore a spoon on a leather thong around his neck.

"Your Highness, meet Sky-Walker of the Redrock Tribe. Your rescuer."

Leia nodded. "I remember you now," she murmured. "You saved my life. I'm thankful and in your debt."

Sky-Walker cocked his head the other way in a puzzled angle. Obi-wan gave a kind of hooting growl, and the Tusken nodded and barked something in return.

"He says it was nothing," Obi-wan translated. "He could not leave an injured person to die, even if they weren't Tusken."

Threepio came shuffling into the room, arms thrown skyward. "Oh, Mistress Leia, it's so good to see you fully functional again!"

The sight of Threepio reminded Leia of Artoo... and her mission. "Threepio, where's Artoo?"

"Oh, he hasn't left your side," Threepio said, sounding aggrieved. "He refused to leave you, even to recharge his circuits..."

"You have a loyal friend there," Obi-wan noted, nodding at the little astromech who sat patiently beside Sky-Walker. "I have never seen such devotion in a droid before." He stood with a slight wince. "Now that you're awake and about, how about some breakfast?"

That sounded wonderful to Leia -- her last meal had been brutally interrupted by Vader's attack on their ship. But there were more pressing matters. She sat up and rested a hand on Artoo's dome.

"General Kenobi, I've come to Tatooine to deliver a message."

Obi-wan laughed a little. "And you can deliver it during the meal, Princess," he told her, and he disappeared, presumably into a kitchen.

She turned to face the Tusken, who continued to stare at her as if she were a fascinating holovid. "Well, Sky-Walker, looks like it's just you and me."

"Leia," he repeated. His head tilted slightly upward as he toyed with her name. "Lay-ah. Lay-ay-uh."

She cupped a hand over her mouth to muffle a giggle.

"Oh-bee-wun," he continued. "Three-pee-oh. Ar-too." His gaze rested on her again. "Leia?"

"Yes," she replied. "Leia."

"Yes, Leia." He pointed at Threepio. "Yes, Threepio?"

"Yes."

He thought a moment longer, then pointed to Artoo. "Yes, Obi-wan?"

"No," she told him, trying not to laugh. "Artoo."

"No Obi-wan, yes Artoo," he repeated, and she realized that he hadn't thought Artoo to be Obi-wan at all; he had merely been trying to learn the words "yes" and "no" in Basic.

Well, she hadn't anticipating giving language lessons while on Tatooine, but...

"Blanket," she said clearly, indicating the blanket.

"Blayn-ket," he repeated.

"Bed."

"Bed."

"Pillow."

"Pill-oh."

"Dress."

"Dress." He cocked his head, then touched his own robes. "Dress?"

It took all her strength not to laugh. "No. Robe." She touched her dress again, then his robes. "Dress. Robe."

"Dress, robe." He thought over that a moment, then shrugged, as if not understanding why two similar garments would be called by different names.

"I see you two are getting along well," Obi-wan noted, entering the room with a tray bearing two bowls of something hot and smelling of cooked grains and berries. He placed the tray before Leia, then removed one of the steaming bowls and handed it to Sky-Walker. He took it eagerly and reached for his face-wrap. Leia watched, fascinated, but was slightly disappointed when he only opened a slit in the wrappings wide enough for him to sip the porridge through.

"Now Princess, about the message," Obi-wan said, resuming his seat.

She took a few bites to ease her growling stomach before beginning to speak. Sky-Walker watched her eat, fascinated, then carefully removed the spoon from around his neck and tried awkwardly to mimic her actions.

"The Rebel Alliance has accomplished something we'd never thought possible," she told the General. "We managed to intercept and capture the Death Star plans."

Obi-wan's eyebrow's arched upward. "I had heard rumors of the battle station, but thought they were just that. I see now those rumors were based on fact." His gaze moved to Artoo. "Seeing as you prize this droid so highly, I am to assume it carries the plans you spoke of?"

"I had hoped to transport them to the Alliance," she replied, "but my ship was attacked before I could reach the base. I came here, to Tatooine, because I knew you could help me get the plans to the Alliance."

He mulled over that information a moment, then looked up at Sky-Walker. The Tusken had been listening in, but everything seemed to have gone over his head.

"I would explain to him what was going on," Obi-wan said gravely, "but I have no idea how to explain the concept of a world-destroying space station to a Tusken. In their minds, there are only two worlds -- Tatooine and everywhere else."

"Does he need to know?" asked Leia. "I am grateful to him, don't get me wrong. But how can he help transport the plans to the Alliance?"

"You would be surprised, your Highness," Obi-wan said with a smile. He beckoned for Sky-Walker to listen closely, and he spoke a few sentences in the creature's tongue. The Tusken leaned forward attentively, but once Obi-wan was finished he fell back into his seat with a thud as if shocked.

"I told him you were on a mission to save your people," Obi-wan replied, "and that we had to get you to an outsider settlement and into a ship as soon as possible before you were captured. That much he can understand."

"When can we leave?" asked Leia. "The longer we delay, the less chance we have of eliminating the Death Star before it has a chance to terrorize or destroy worlds."

"You have a concussion, Princess," Obi-wan told her sternly. "You must stay in bed at least one more day before you're fit to travel..."

Sky-Walker suddenly launched into a frantic tirade, waving his arms around animatedly. His sudden outburst made Threepio recoil slightly and set Artoo to bleeping alarmedly. Leia frowned, wondering what had set him off. Obi-wan's brow furrowed, and he spoke a few quiet questions to coax some semblance of sense out of Sky-Walker. By the time they were through talking, the General wore a grim expression and Sky-Walker slumped a bit from exhaustion.

"He says you cannot leave yet," he told Leia. "He says you are being hunted. His people spotted a ship landing in Mos Eisley, one that seemed to be carrying someone important. And the priests of his tribe -- who are Force-strong, mind, so don't take what they say lightly -- had a vision of a being they think of as a night-demon coming to Tatooine. From Sky-Walker's description, this 'night-demon' of theirs can only be Darth Vader."

Leia shuddered. She thought she had escaped the Dark Lord. To think he was still on her trail...

"He wants you to wait awhile," Obi-wan went on. "His people are seeking an alliance with another tribe, and once that alliance is achieved they will have a sizeable force of warriors to eliminate this night-demon of theirs. Then, he says, it will be safe for you to leave."

"That's generous of him," Leia replied, "but tell him to keep his people out of this. Darth Vader is dangerous, and a party of Tusken warriors, no matter how strong they are, are no match for him."

Obi-wan translated her words for Sky-Walker, who exchanged a few heated remarks with Obi-wan before finally subsiding with a huff.

"I assured him this man is no night-demon," Obi-wan explained, "and that his people would do well to keep out of his path. He says the tribe won't listen to him, that they're convinced they can only save themselves by destroying Vader."

"And what did you tell him?"

"To return tomorrow, and to bring his sister with him. She is highly respected in their tribe, and I have had correspondence with her before. I will explain the situation to her, and hopefully we can resolve this with no unnecessary loss of life." Obi-wan smiled. "I think you will like Wind-Dancer. She is a character."

Leia sighed and leaned back in bed. "I hate delaying this. The Alliance needs those plans. Without them, we have no hope of finding a flaw in the Death Star."

"Have faith in the Force, Princess," Obi-wan said kindly. "All will work out in its own time."

Sky-Walker barked something, then bowed to Leia and headed for the door. Obi-wan nodded at him as he strode out into the brightening morning.

"He has sentry duty with the tribe," Obi-wan explained. "He must get back to his work. But I'm confident you'll see him again."

Leia smiled. "I like him. Unfortunate I can't understand him."

"While we're waiting, I suppose I can teach you some Tusken." He thought a moment. "And I could use to teach Sky-Walker Basic soon. He will need it."


	6. Hunting a Skywalker

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I apologize that this chapter took SO long to put out. I promise the next one will be posted faster._

**Chapter 6 -- Hunting a Skywalker**

Wind-Dancer sighed gustily as she swung herself into Slowfoot's saddle. "Explain to me why I let you talk me into this?"

"Look, I'm just thinking that maybe this outsider woman can help our tribe out," Sky-Walker countered, nudging Cyclone into a walk and motioning for his older sister to follow. "She has no love for the Black One either. She might know something about how to protect the tribe if he ever does attack..."

"From all you've told me, this woman is the Black One's prey. Her very presence in our territory puts the tribe in danger if what you say is true." She followed after the young man grudgingly. "While I do not believe the Black One to be a night-demon, I know he is dangerous. I know he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. If you choose to help this woman, you could very well end up on the wrong side of his wrath."

Sky-Walker smiled fondly beneath his face wrap. "She's worth it."

Wind-Dancer whirled to stare at him. "Please don't tell me you have lost your heart to an outsider, Lizard."

"Sky-Walker," he corrected. "And no, I am not in love with her. I simply feel that... that she's something precious. Something that can't be lost."

Wind-Dancer nodded slowly. "From all you have told me, she sounds like one of noble blood among the outsiders. Perhaps this can be turned into something good for our tribe. Perhaps, if we help her, she can be of help to us."

The two Tuskens brought their mounts to a halt as a figure materialized in the murky gray light of dawn -- a sentry on bantha-back. They waited patiently as the guard drew close for an inspection.

"What, are the suns rising in the west this morning?" demanded Thunder-Cry, guffawing at Sky-Walker. "The lazy lizard's actually up before the suns? Shall we declare this a miracle?"

"Shut up," huffed Sky-Walker.

"When you have finished trying to play the fool, Thunder-Cry, you may let us by," Wind-Dancer said drolly. "The Daughters of the Moons have business to conduct before the moons can draw back their cloaks."

"Where're you off to anyhow?" Thunder-Cry wanted to know. "I don't recall the Daughters saying anything about one of their members taking an underage young man off into the desert for any sort of ritual." He cocked his head suggestively. "If I didn't know the lizard was your brother, I'd say you were initiating a consort..."

Sky-Walker wanted to retch at the thought of his own sister taking him on as a consort.

"That'll be enough out of you," Wind-Dancer snapped, and she brought her bone staff down on Crusher's rump. The bantha gave a startled honk and bolted, and Thunder-Cry was forced to cut off his mocking monologue to grab at the reins in a desperate bid to stay mounted.

"Arrogant," Wind-Dancer huffed as they resumed their journey. "He's too full of himself. His pride will be his undoing." She inspected the end of her staff for cracks. "I was always of the opinion that some Tuskens would have been better off being born outsiders."

"Does that mean there are some outsiders that should have been born Tuskens?" asked Sky-Walker.

Wind-Dancer touched her chin through her veil, thoughtful. "Sometimes I swear Obi-wan Kenobi is half-Tusken himself... so yes, I suppose the answer is yes. Some outsiders are more Tusken than outsider just as some Tuskens are more outsider than Tusken."

As Slowfoot and Cyclone plodded onward, Sky-Walker had to wonder just which category the outsider woman would fall into. He didn't know enough about her yet to judge. But he hoped to fix that shortcoming soon.

_Break..._

Vader did not want to think about the last time he had visited this place. That occasion would be branded forever into his memory -- the pain, the rage, the despair, the scars that to this day still smarted. Even as he descended the courtyard steps, he could not forget treading this path as a younger man, bearing his mother's body in his arms, not making eye contact with anyone as his agony and fury continued to simmer, unsated by the slaughter he had unleashed mere hours before. Even as he strode toward the door and pounded forcefully for entry, he could not forget the faces of those who lived here... or their expressions of pity and horror upon learning all he had lost that fateful day when Shmi had died...

He shook his head as if those memories were but annoying insects. Such musings would do him no good here. The young man these people knew was dead. They would not see him as Anakin here, but as a Dark Lord. He had no intention of letting them see otherwise.

The door rasped open, and the house's occupant stepped forward, mouth open to deliver a tirade to whoever had pounded so rudely on his door. When he saw exactly who awaited entry, he froze, mouth still hanging open, eyes as wide as the twin suns that had just breached the horizon.

"I seek Owen Lars," Vader thundered.

"You're..." the man squeaked, then coughed, cleared his throat, and spoke in a deeper, gruffer tone that served to mask some of his fear. "You're looking at him, sir."

"My lord," Vader corrected, taking a slight irrational pleasure out of watching the grizzled farmer squirm. "You will address me as 'my Lord.'"

"Yes, m'Lord," he replied, stepping back -- whether to be polite or an attempt to flee, who could say?

"Owen, whoever it is, let them in out of the heat!" came a decidedly female voice from inside the house.

"Uh, come in, m'Lord," Owen invited, scurrying out of the way as Vader ducked through the doorway and strode inside. As worn and humble as he remembered it, and decidedly more cramped.

Beru bustled out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. When she saw who had dropped by, her mouth formed an O of surprise, but unlike her husband she swiftly controlled her fear and addressed Vader with some measure of composure.

"Can we help you, Lord Vader?" she asked. "Is something wrong?"

He wasted no breath on formalities. "A Rebel ship was captured three days ago over Tatooine," he told Owen and Beru. "One or more Rebels fled to the planet's surface and are still at large."

Owen shook his head. "We haven't seen any Rebels," he insisted. "Nothing out of the ordinary. I swear!"

Vader nodded slowly. Owen was telling the truth. They knew nothing about the recent battle or the escape of Princess Leia.

But he had come to feel out other information... information that would be considerably more difficult to procure. He doubted either Owen or Beru would be exactly forthcoming about their Jedi relative, even if he were only a stepbrother. And they could very well be under orders from Obi-wan or even Yoda to not speak of anything relating to Anakin. He would have to use caution...

"Can I get you something to drink, my Lord?" asked Beru.

"Beru!" hissed Owen.

"Come now, Owen, he's a guest," she chided.

Vader waved the offer away. "I did not come for you to wait upon me, Mrs. Lars. I have come for information."

"Like I said, m'Lord, we don't know anything about the Rebels! We're just a couple of farmers trying to scratch out a living here! Why would Rebels bother with us?"

Vader swivelled his head to regard Owen. "Just a couple of farmers, Owen Lars? I think not. You are a farmer, granted... but a farmer with ties to the Jedi Order."

Owen's eyes bulged. Beru blanched.

"The Empire understands that you have little control over family bonds, be they by blood or marriage. But if it is discovered that you have had any other involvement with the Jedi Order... the consequences will be dire."

The Lars exchanged a look heavy with fear and meaning. He wondered if he had gone too far... and just what they knew about Anakin Skywalker. It was quite possible that Obi-wan had told them about his fall... and the birth of his child. It was quite possible that they knew full well that Vader had once been Skywalker, and they might even suppose that the "Rebel" he sought had to be his daughter.

"My stepbrother died twenty years ago, during the attack on the Jedi Temple," Owen said gruffly. "Since then we've had no word from a Jedi. None at all."

Vader sensed the faint ripples in the Force and glimpsed their meaning. "You are lying," he snarled.

Owen's hand flew involuntarily to his throat -- even on this back-of-beyond world, Vader's favored method of execution was legendary. "Once!" he barked. "Anakin's Jedi Master commed us once! To tell us he was dead!"

He extended the Force again. This time Owen was truthful... but short on the facts. "What else did he tell you?"

This time it was Beru who answered, standing beside her husband as if daring the Dark Lord to kill her as well as him. "That Anakin had broken the Jedi Codes. He had gotten married and had a child. His... his Master wanted us to raise the baby. He told us he would bring the child... but he never showed up. We assumed he'd been captured... and we never found out what happened to the baby."

Vader gave a slow nod, piecing together the last of the puzzle on his own. Obi-wan had planned on hiding Leia on Tatooine, where he was sure her father would never go, until the time came to train her. But something had changed his mind, and he had opted to leave her in the care of Bail Organa instead, not bothering to tell the Lars that there had been a change in plans. He curled his lip in anger. Like all the Jedi, Obi-wan held family bonds in such low regard that it had never occurred to him that the Lars might actually worry about the girl...

"You have been helpful," Vader told them, and he turned to go.

"You're going to hunt this Obi-wan down?" Owen asked, a touch of tension in his voice that could have been either horror or relief.

"We must be certain he is dead," Vader replied. "And that Skywalker's daughter poses no threat to the Empire."

Beru's next words, blurted without thinking, made Vader freeze in his tracks: "Daughter? But it was a boy. Obi-wan told us Anakin's child was a boy."

_Break..._

Sky-Walker had no idea what to expect from Wind-Dancer and Leia's first meeting. For all that his sister was a Daughter of the Moons and fairly amiable toward outsiders, she still seemed very unsure about speaking with a woman who had the Black One on her trail for whatever reason. And Leia... he didn't know enough about her to know how she'd react to the presence of two Tuskens, but judging from his prior experiences with outsiders, she wasn't bound to be very pleased. So needless to say, he was bracing himself for the worst as Obi-wan opened the door and let them enter his home.

Leia was seated in a chair, sipping a glass of water and listening to something Threepio was telling her. When she saw Sky-Walker, she smiled and stood, offering her hand.

"May the suns watch over you, Sky-Walker," she said in slow but perfect Tusken.

"May the suns watch over you, Leia," he replied, clasping her hand -- that was the one custom Tuskens and outsiders shared, the greeting of others by gripping their hands. "You speak Tusken?"

"I am teaching Mistress Leia the basics of your language, Master Sky-Walker," Threepio chimed in. "She is coming along quite splendidly... for a human being, that is." He glanced at Wind-Dancer. "Oh! Who might this be?"

"Leia, Threepio, this is Wind-Dancer," Sky-Walker introduced. "My sister."

Threepio translated for Leia, who smiled and held her hand toward the Daughter of the Moons. "May the suns watch over you, Wind-Dancer."

Wind-Dancer ignored the proffered hand, instead taking Leia's chin and drawing her face close to hers. Startled, Leia didn't resist but held her hands out in case she needed to defend herself.

"Threepio, tell Leia Wind-Dancer's a holy woman," Sky-Walker urged. "She has the power to look into people's spirits. She just wants to know what kind of person Leia is."

Threepio hurriedly explained, but before he had completed the translation Wind-Dancer had released Leia. She took a step back, steadied herself, and stared at the outsider woman for a long, tense moment. The two women regarded each other warily like two wild beasts, each trying to judge whether the other was a friend or foe. Obi-wan looked on, but Sky-Walker was unfamiliar with most outsider facial expressions and so couldn't judge what he was thinking...

"The suns and moons shall watch over you always, Princess Leia," Wind-Dancer said at last, her voice warm. "A friend of Sky-Walker's is a friend of mine." Then she added something in a tongue Sky-Walker couldn't fathom.

"You know Outsider?" he demanded.

"Basic," Wind-Dancer corrected. "It is called Basic. And Obi-wan taught it to me long ago."

"Perhaps your brother should begin learning it as well," Obi-wan offered.

"Only if he wishes it," Wind-Dancer replied.

"Of course!" he exclaimed. "I'd love to learn it!"

The four of them seated themselves around a low table, and Obi-wan began filling glasses of water for his guests. As Sky-Walker leaned over the table to collect his glass, he caught a murmured exchange between Obi-wan and Wind-Dancer.

"I thought I said no hurrying it along."

"I had no idea she would come here, Wind-Dancer..."

Hurry what along? And what about Leia? But before he could voice his questions, Leia was speaking again -- but in Basic, so he couldn't discern what she was saying.

"Princess Leia is warning Wind-Dancer about the threat Lord Vader -- who you call the Black One -- poses to your people should you choose to attack him," Threepio translated for Sky-Walker. "She asks her to please advise the tribe to leave him alone and keep to themselves until he leaves the planet. Mistress Leia will be leaving the planet as soon as she possibly can in order to save her people... and to ensure that your people are not put in jeopardy."

Wind-Dancer nodded slowly, then spoke carefully in answer.

"And Wind-Dancer is telling her that she will relay the message to the Daughters of the Moons. It will be up to the Eldest Daughter what they do with the information, of course, but she is confident that they can inform the chief. She is less certain, however, that he will act upon the information."

Sky-Walker grinned. Star-Thief, who acted as Eldest Daughter and leader of the Daughters of the Moons, would be sure to speak her piece to chief Stone-Shadow. But with the tribe still in hysterics over the Sons of the Suns' latest vision, he, too, doubted whether the chief would listen.

"But why is the Black One so dangerous?" asked Sky-Walker. "How can an outsider work the powers of the spirits? Why does he want Leia? And how will he be a danger to our tribe if we're not even of his people?"

Obi-wan gave him a penetrating look. Then a slight smile played across his lips... but it was not a happy smile.

"That is a long story, my young friend," he replied. His gaze moved to Wind-Dancer, who gave a terse nod. As if that were the permission he was seeking, he turned back to Sky-Walker and Leia. "One you both need to hear, for there are parts that even Leia is not familiar with."

Leia and Sky-Walker leaned forward attentively to hear. Threepio set to translating for Leia, for Obi-wan was speaking Tusken for Sky-Walker and Wind-Dancer's benefit.

"The Tuskens know by now that there are other worlds than Tatooine, worlds belonging to those you term 'outsiders.' For over a thousand generations these worlds were united under one rule -- the rule of the Republic. This Republic governed the worlds of the galaxy justly and fairly, with an order of peacekeepers called the Jedi Knights helping to maintain order."

"What's the Republic?" asked Sky-Walker. "Is that like a chief?"

"The Republic was not a person or a position," Obi-wan replied. "It was a set of laws and bylaws by which the worlds of the galaxy operated. Each world in the galaxy was represented by a Senator, and all these Senators ruled the galaxy together. A Supreme Chancellor governed all of the Senators and saw that justice and freedom were served."

"It's like how our tribe is governed," Wind-Dancer added. "Each calling -- the metal collectors, the warriors, the hunters, the raiders, the herders, even the Sons and the Daughters -- has a leader, a most respected member who the others look up to. And they, in turn, advise our chief, who holds the responsibility of governing the tribe and keeping disagreements between the callings to a minimum. The Republic worked the same way."

"Ah," Sky-Walker replied, nodding. For some reason, it was a relief to find yet another similarity between his people and the outsiders.

Obi-wan smiled. "The Jedi Knights were very much like the holy people of your tribe, Sky-Walker. They helped maintain peace and order throughout the galaxy, and they relied on the power of the Force to guide them."

"The Force?" he repeated, cocking his head.

"It is a sort of energy field that surrounds all things," Obi-wan explained. "It controls and can be controlled. It connects and influences everything. It brings order to the galaxy."

Sky-Walker caught on. "The Black One must get his power from the Force, then! Not the spirits! Does that mean he's a Jedi Knight?"

Obi-wan's face lost its smile, and he became grave. "Darth Vader was once a Jedi Knight... but he was seduced by the dark side of the Force." He stared off into the distance as his voice dropped into an almost trance-like murmur. "He was once a student of mine, but he fell to evil. He hunted down and destroyed all the Jedi Knights... save me."

Sky-Walker felt his jaw fall open. "You're a Jedi?"

Obi-wan nodded.

"Then you can use the Force? Can you show me what the Force can do?"

Obi-wan seemed to come back into himself, and he met Sky-Walker's gaze. "Perhaps another time, Sky-Walker. I have a story to finish, you know."

He settled back down as Obi-wan resumed speaking.

"A corrupt Senator named Palpatine schemed to take over the Republic a long time ago, before any of you were born." He gestured to Leia, Sky-Walker, and Wind-Dancer. "He destroyed the Republic, the laws that had kept order in the galaxy for so long, and became ruler of the galaxy. Under his leadership, war and chaos have reigned. Our people have suffered much under his cruel hand... and the Jedi have been slaughtered to make way for his right-hand man, Darth Vader."

Sky-Walker gulped. "If he finds you... will he kill you?"

"In a breath," Obi-wan replied soberly. "And if you cross paths with him, I fear for your life as well. For he has a hatred for Tuskens... as a tribe of them killed his mother long ago."

"The Scorpion Tribe," he whispered, stunned.

The old man nodded. "Leia serves a group of fighters who have sworn to see freedom and justice restored to our worlds, and the information she has can very well save her people. But first, we have to reach them."

Wind-Dancer cocked her head thoughtfully. "If we disguise her as a Daughter of the Moon, we can smuggle her to camp easily," she suggested. "Then we can gather some supplies and take a 'pilgrimage' to Mos Eisley, where you can help her escape the planet."

"That's a possibility," Obi-wan acknowledged.

Sky-Walker remained silent for a few moments. Something troubled him, something about...

"Your friend, Skywalker," he said at last. "You said he was a warrior... was he a Jedi too?"

Here Obi-wan's face fell. "He was indeed a Jedi. Anakin Skywalker, one of the greatest."

Leia gasped. So the name was legendary enough that she knew it as well.

"Darth Vader betrayed and murdered Skywalker," Obi-wan said at length. "He is gone."

Sky-Walker leaned forward and placed a hand on Obi-wan's. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he replied. "It is not your fault." He rubbed his forehead wearily. "You two had best get back to your camp, before you're missed. Wind-Dancer, will you teach your brother Basic?"

She cocked her head mischievously. "Father won't approve... which only makes it more the fun."

Leia laughed lightly as Threepio explained Wind-Dancer's comment. Sky-Walker just smiled beneath his face-wrap as he and Wind-Dancer left the house and mounted their banthas. He liked Leia more every time they met. Already he was eager for tomorrow that he might see her again.

_Break..._

In the Temple of the Suns, the eleven Sons of the Suns that presided over the Redrock Tribe gathered for an urgent meeting, seating themselves in a circle around a clay pot filled with smoldering herbs in order to ward off any curious spirits. Tattered and dirty, each as scrawny and jittery as a rock lizard, they whispered amongst themselves worriedly as they readied themselves for this hasty conference.

When the last of the Sons -- an eighteen-summer-old youth who still wore a little fat on his frame -- scuttled into the tent and flopped down into place, the oldest and most ratty-looking priest raised a commanding hand to bring silence.

"This had better be important, Eldest Son White-Serpent," rasped Sand-Storm, a middle-aged Tusken who coughed incessantly and had a twisted, crippled arm that jutted awkwardly to one side. "I still have to read the winds to divine tomorrow's hunting..."

"Stuff it, Sand-Storm," snapped White-Serpent. "Let the hunters fend for themselves for once. Suns know they've never once thanked us for our help."

"Any more news on the Black One?" asked the youngest recruit eagerly, practically bouncing on his rump with excitement.

"No more visions since the first," Sand-Storm grated just before he was shaken by a coughing spasm.

"The sentries and warriors who answer to us report that he has been visiting outsider settlements farther from Mos Eisley," White-Serpent replied. "Which could mean this night-demon is seeking recruits."

"Or perhaps he is feeding on the outsiders," whispered Light-Drinker with a shudder.

"What do we care if he's killing outsiders?" hissed Night-Render. "Let him thin their numbers a little."

"Idiot!" screeched Light-Drinker. "Do you WANT him to be gaining power? Night-demons derive their strength from the blood of innocents! You know that!"

"Calm, brothers," White-Serpent ordered. "I am having certain warriors keep an eye on this creature. His appearance was an unpleasant surprise, granted... but we can work it to our advantage."

"What do you mean?" someone grunted -- no one was sure who.

"Exactly what I said," White-Serpent replied. "Tell me, brothers -- how many of you enjoy being the laughingstock of the tribe? How many of you appreciate the youngsters poking fun at your wrappings and robes, as if they were an indicator of the power inside you? How many of you like seeing young men quail in disgust when their callings as Sons of the Suns are announced?" His gaze swept the tent as the other Sons shifted uneasily. "I thought not. Ours is not an envied calling. But it is a vital one -- a fact I think the tribe has failed to take into account."

"Stone-Shadow seems to appreciate us," the young Tusken piped up.

"Only when we predict impending disaster," sniffed Sand-Storm. "Otherwise, we may as well be sand under his feet."

"Whereas people revere the Daughters of the Moons," growled White-Serpent. "Revere them and regard them with awe and wonder, when all they can manage are showy displays and ceremonies."

"But they bring rains," protested Light-Drinker. "And bless children. And see the dead off to the Realm of the Suns. And invoke the protection of the Moons at night to repel night-demons..."

"I did not suggest that they did not provide a service to the tribe," White-Serpent interrupted. "I merely said they seem to be getting airs. Considering themselves more important than they are. Growing prideful -- a serious flaw in a Tusken."

"And what does this have to do with the Black One?" asked Sand-Storm.

"Think about it," White-Serpent advised. "Night-demons are powerful, but not invincible. And with the right wards, they can be contained... and controlled."

The other Sons gasped as they sensed what the Eldest Son implied. Then they began murmuring excitedly. If they could control the Black One, could use his powers for the benefit of the tribe rather than its doom, would they not be seen as the true leaders and heroes of the tribe? Would it not set them above the Daughters of the Moons at last?

"How do we go about doing it?" asked Crooked-Fang. "As Sons of the Suns, we are forbidden from engaging in combat."

White-Serpent drew aside the tent flap. "Enter, young one."

The hunter ducked inside the tent and bowed low. "I am honored to be here, White-Serpent. I am here as you asked..."

"I have an assignment for you and the warriors who answer to you, young Thunder-Cry," White-Serpent informed him. "One that will greatly aid the tribe."

"Speak, and it shall be done."

"You and your men must track the Black One," White-Serpent ordered. "Shadow him. When the suns are at their height and his powers are at their weakest... strike. I will give you wards that should protect you from the night-demon's wrath."

Thunder-Cry sucked in his breath, then nodded. "You want me to kill the night-demon?"

"No," replied White-Serpent. "Catch him."


	7. Darkness Strikes

**Chapter 7 – Darkness Strikes**

The suns glowered down from their places in the hard turquoise sky, unflinching, unpitying, the sole witnesses as a scrap of black drifted across the bright sands below. Against the brilliance of the Dune Sea at high noon, Vader's ebon armor and cloak seemed almost an obscenity, and the suns seemed to take violent offense at this sacrilege upon their territory. All their efforts to make him pay for his insolence, however, were in vain – Vader's environmental suit shielded him from even the scorching double-suns of this harsh world.

But the armor could not protect him from the brighter, crueler light of truth.

Twins. He was the father of twins. Princess Leia... and a nameless boy whom Obi-wan had intended to entrust to the Lars... but had not for some reason. Had he elected to raise and train the child as his apprentice? If that were the case...

His rage bubbled as hot as the very lava Obi-wan had abandoned him to two decades ago. If that were the case, he would take great pleasure in slowly crushing the life from the treacherous Jedi's body.

The suns continued to glare down upon him, and he defiantly glared back at them, the optical sensors in his helmet automatically dimming to reduced power to protect his ravaged eyes from the light. Seven days... seven times those suns had risen, arced overhead, and fallen. And still no sign of Princess Leia or Obi-wan Kenobi. If Obi-wan had even remained on the planet...

His men had seized an abandoned moisture farm some ten kilometers from the Lars' farm as a temporary base of operations, and it was there that his soldiers were preparing for their next foray into the wastes of Tatooine. Every day for the past seven they had fanned out and plumbed another quadrant of the desert for any sign of Leia, any indication that she had survived the crash. So far they had only found the skeletal remains of her escape pod, already gutted of every useful component and most of its plating by the metal scavengers of this Force-forsaken planet.

Vader was alone for the time being. He needed time to think, to consider his next move. All efforts to find the Princess had so far been fruitless. Perhaps it was time to change tactics...

He extended his awareness, letting it sweep across the desert like a mystic wind. Contrary to popular belief, deserts were far from empty wastelands. Even the infamous Jundland Wastes teemed with life – and every speck of this life glittered in the framework of the Force. From the dim flecks of rock mites and carrion flies to the hulking forms of banthas and krayt dragons, from the primitive minds of the scrounging Jawas to the cold machinations of the infamous Hutts who made their lairs far from prying eyes, no presence escaped his view. No mind could hide forever from him...

A familiar consciousness brushed his, and before it could retreat fully he seized hold of it, blasting it with all the fury and darkness that filled his soul upon the contact.

_How DARE you, Obi-wan! How DARE you hide them from me! How DARE you take what is rightfully mine! You already cost me the only woman I could ever love! Will you stoop so low as to strip me of my children as well?_

The mind wrenched itself free of his mental grip but remained in contact, unflustered by the Dark Lord's brutal ranting. _I will do what is needed to protect them, Lord Vader..._

_Protect them? Use them to your own ends is more like it. You may have fooled them into believing you care for their welfare, but you cannot fool me. TELL ME where they're hiding!_

_They are safe. That is all you need to know._

_Blast you, Obi-wan! Will you take all I love from me?_

_You did that yourself, Lord Vader, when you pledged yourself to the Emperor._

Vader broke the contact and plunged onward, seeking another mind, another presence...

Leia shuddered at his cold touch. So she was strong enough to feel his presence... but not yet trained enough to recognize or respond to it. He smiled grimly and withdrew his touch. No use in addressing her – it would only frighten her away from him even more. Now for his son...

The boy was surprisingly close by, but not in Obi-wan's presence. Vader could sense him nearly jumping out of his skin as he felt the mind of another brushing against his. Had he possessed control of his lungs, he would have gasped in wonder. Stars, this boy was strong in the Force! Perhaps strong beyond measure! He took pleasure in that thought, in the idea of his son becoming the most powerful Force-wielder in the galaxy, of taking on and finally destroying the Emperor...

A nudge at his mind. The boy's fear had worn off, and he was now curious. Amazing. He had unconsciously learned to use his own powers.

_Who's there?_

_Don't be afraid, _Vader sent along their connection. _I seek no harm. Only to help you._

There was a flash of fear, and the connection was broken. Evidently the boy had not been expecting an answer and panicked at the contact.

He reined in the Force, his awareness returning to the sands before him. Turning on his heel, he began the return trip to the temporary headquarters. He could not discern their location through the Force, only determine that they were relatively close. It was time to ready his men for another foray into the desert...

An eerie howl stopped him in his tracks, and he whirled to see a bantha thundering down upon him like a runaway shuttle bus. Upon the beast's back was a Tusken Raider, gaderffi gleaming wickedly in the sunlight...

Unbidden, memories spilled forth – memories of flashing blue light, howls of agony, muffled thuds as bodies struck the sands, his own screams of pain and shame tearing at his throat...

He sprang to the side just as the bantha charged by, close enough that he could hear a whisking sound as hanks of shaggy hair brushed past his helmet. The beast slid to a clumsy halt, and the rider leaped down from its back with a snarl, half-crouched like a sand panther about to spring. A heavy clay pendant hung about his throat bearing a crude image of the double-suns, and his gaderffi rattled with chains of dragon's teeth wrapped about the handle.

Cliegg Lars' words returned to him – _Those Tuskens, they walk like men, but they're vicious, mindless monsters..._

The hatred that had been building in his gut toward Obi-wan skyrocketed upon seeing this savage beast, searing through his blood like acid. A haze began to creep over his vision...

_They took my mother from me, _he thought angrily. _They tortured her. They killed her for their own sadistic reasons... and Obi-wan didn't even CARE that they'd hurt me... He showed more sympathy toward the Tuskens than to my own mother..._

The Tusken charged with a howl... and the hatred exploded like a long-dormant volcano bursting violently to life. His saber activated with a wicked SNAP-HISS...

He remembered nothing after that, nothing of the duel... if there even was one. When his head cleared, his foe lay in the sands, his head separated from his body by about a meter. The bantha lay on its side, moaning in its death throes, a hole punched through its ribs that had no doubt seared vital organs.

Vader stepped over the body of the Tusken and went to the bantha, careful to avoid the writhing legs. When he reached its head, he raised his saber again and gave it the mercy of a quick death.

Then he turned back to the base, his rage having been partially sated for the time being.

_Break..._

"Stop squirming, Lizard!" chided Moon-Blossom as she struggled to fasten the dewback-skin cape around Sky-Walker's neck. "Honestly, I think you're old enough to know to hold still..."

"Mother, I can put it on myself!" he snapped, trying to wrench away. "I'm an adult now!"

"Not for three more days," she reminded him, tying the leather thongs snugly about his neck.

"Still, I can dress myself," he huffed, tugging at the ties in an effort to loosen them a bit. Personally, he thought the cape looked ridiculous. But seeing as it was the daughter of the chief's wedding and every other Tusken was dressed in their finery, his parents had insisted he don the garment.

"Lizard, you will always be, in a sense, our little boy," Moon-Blossom told him gently, placing her slender hands on his shoulders. "Even when you have children of your own."

He had to smile at that, and he tilted his head to one side to show that smile to Moon-Blossom. "Sorry, Mother. I'm just excited... and a little nervous. I mean, it's my life's calling that's coming up fast..."

"All young Tuskens feel that way just before their Adulthood ceremony," Red-Dragon said calmly, entering the tent at that moment. He wore a chain of dragon's teeth about his throat to signify his calling as a dragon hunter, and a massif-hide cloak dyed the color of blood hung over his wrappings.

"Was there anything you were hoping to be, Father?" asked Sky-Walker.

"To be perfectly honest," Red-Dragon replied, chuckling, "anything but a Son of the Suns."

The three of them shared a laugh at that.

"That's not to say it's a shameful calling," Moon-Blossom said hastily, adjusting her shawl which had been woven from undyed black bantha hair and nervously patting the turquoise pendant hanging from a leather thong around her neck. "They are to be honored and respected. But still... I remember being terrified I was going to be called as a consort to them before I learned they were forbidden from marrying."

Sky-Walker groaned in sympathy. "Did you hope to be anything?" he asked.

"Well, I always envied the Daughters of the Moons," Moon-Blossom replied. "Though I think every girl does at some point. And I was always fascinated by the work of the healers. But in the end, when I was given the calling of weaver, I was satisfied. It may not be as prestigious as some callings, but it aids the tribe, and I love it."

"Part of life, young Lizard, is learning to accept what the Suns and Moons give you without complaint," Red-Dragon said sagely, patting his son's back. "You don't have to like every trial and mishap they choose to give you, but you do have the power to change what you can and accept what you can't."

Sky-Walker smiled. "Thank you, Father."

"You're welcome, son." He gestured outside. "Shall we join in the festivities?"

"I dunno," Sky-Walker said worriedly. "The Serpent Tribe doesn't look very friendly."

"They will only be here for the wedding," Moon-Blossom assured him. "Then they'll go back to wherever they came from until we need their aid." Under her breath she murmured "Moons forbid we ever do need them..."

Sky-Walker yanked at his cape a final time to loosen it enough that it was no longer painful. So even his own father had feared being made a Son of the Suns, for all that he preached to Sky-Walker that it was not a shameful calling. Ha. If it was such a grand calling, why did every young man dread it?

And Sky-Walker felt that he had solid reason to dread it. Just a few hours ago he had distinctly _heard _something speak to him. It was a strange sort of voice, one that seemed to have no sound... and yet he had most distinctly _heard _it. A hearing without ears, it seemed... Had it been a premonition? A spirit wanting to tell him something? Was he indeed a Son of the Suns, and that incident had been solid proof of it? He wasn't sure, and he really didn't want to find out.

The three of them exited the tent to find the rest of the tribe gathered in the communal area in the center of camp, all in their finery and wearing mementos of their callings upon them. The metal collectors' ornaments gleamed from long sand-polishing, the warriors and hunters displayed their finest pelts and teeth and hides from successful kills, the raiders boasted outsider artifacts as jewelry, the weavers had seen to it that every woman had a colorful shawl to wear over her wrappings, and the Daughters of the Moons were as splendid as ever in their traditional silver robes and ceremonial jewelry and headgear. Even the Sons of the Suns had unbent enough to don clay amulets in the shape of the suns.

"Hey Lizard!"

"Hey Weed!" greeted Sky-Walker, clapping his friend on the back enthusiastically. Weed wore a dewback-skin cloak similar to his, only his had been cobbled together from the hides of much younger beasts so the scales were a more brilliant shade of green. And as if he didn't look goofy enough in the bright green cape, he'd taken the time to decorate his wrappings with whatever odds and ends looked handy – stray bits of metal, tufts of colored fur, shiny pebbles, and even a moon-shaped amulet he'd probably filched from a Daughter of the Moons who would likely pound him into the ground later on.

"Lizard, where you been?" demanded Weed. "I keep an eye out for you when we're on sentry duty, but I never seem to run into you."

"I've been asked to keep an eye on a particular outsider home," Sky-Walker replied. He didn't mention that it had been Wind-Dancer who had asked him to watch over Leia and alert her instantly if there was any sign of the Black One nearby. Nor did he mention that he actually popped into said outsider home for a visit whenever he could... or that he was learning their language.

"Ah, I see. Any chance I could join you sometime? You know, maybe strike a little fear of the Tuskens into them?"

"Um... no. The... the Daughters of the Moons don't want them scared of us."

"So they've found willing outsiders for the next full moon?" Weed marveled. "I can see why they don't want them scared off. Okay, I'll leave them alone."

Sky-Walker scanned the crowd, seeking any familiar faces. Wind-Dancer was with her fellow priestesses, of course, wearing the painted skull of a very young krayt dragon as a headdress and the creature's gray-white hide as a cloak. Chief Stone-Shadow, garbed in a robe of white bantha-hair embroidered with warrior talismans, conversed with the Eldest Daughter and Eldest Son, Star-Thief resplendent in her snakeskin cloak and a golden outsider chain, White-Serpent unornamented save a plain clay sun amulet. And representatives from the Serpent Tribe stood off to the side, wearing cloaks of dark reptile hide and chains of snake's fangs.

Stone-Shadow's daughter, Rain-Singer, hung nervously at her father's side, a plump young woman only a few weeks older than Sky-Walker himself. Her tattered wrappings had been replaced for this occasion and were interspersed with bands of snakeskin, and a ceremonial headdress of stiffened bantha hair dyed red and gold crowned her head and made her appear taller than usual. Sky-Walker felt a stab of pity for her – she was a shy and gentle young woman. How under the suns would she survive being married into a brutal, savage tribe?

He received his answer when he saw the Tusken standing in the center of the Serpent Tribe representatives – Black-Massif, the son of the elderly chief of the Serpent Tribe. His black dragon-skin cloak glittered in the evening suns, and the skull of a snake hung at his chest. But despite his threatening appearance, the looks he kept giving young Rain-Singer were unmistakable. Even if this was an arranged marriage, Black-Massif genuinely cared for the girl and was sure to treat her very well... and protect her from any brutality.

Weed elbowed Sky-Walker. "Where's your outsider trophy? I thought for sure you'd wear it!"

"Uh... I lost it." That was the truth, even if he had lost it on purpose.

"Bantha dung. Would've been cool to show the Serpent Tribe." He abruptly changed the subject. "Where's Thunder-Cry?"

"Haven't seen him."

"Hmph. Maybe he's off sulking somewhere. He's under the impression that HE should be the one to marry Rain-Singer."

"Well, we all know Thunder-Cry's full of poodoo anyway..."

"Full of what?"

Sky-Walker snapped his mouth shut, silently cursing himself. According to Leia, "poodoo" was an outsider curse word, one he must have unconsciously picked up from his sister. Stang it all – another phrase he was going to have to be careful with – this learning Basic was going to get him into trouble if he wasn't careful.

Luckily, Weed decided to let it go. "Looks like they're about to start the ceremony."

The tribe quieted as the Sons of the Suns of the Serpent Tribe gathered around Black-Massif, ushering him forward to meet his bride. The Daughters of the Moons of the Redrock Tribe gently led Rain-Dancer forward, her father at her side. The two parties met, and Black-Massif extended his hand and spoke the customary words.

"Stone-Shadow, I ask your daughter's hand in marriage."

"It is a difficult thing you ask of me," Stone-Shadow intoned, also speaking the ritual words. "What do you offer in exchange for my child?"

"I offer you myself, as your new son," Black-Massif replied. "I offer you our children, as your grandchildren. And I offer you my protection, as a member of our family."

Stone-Shadow nodded. "I accept."

Rain-Dancer hesitantly left her father's side, stepping carefully forward to face Black-Massif. The young Tusken man took her hand as one of the holy men of his tribe spoke the binding words: "The Suns will light the path that you two trod from this day forth. May their light always shine over you."

Star-Thief spoke her own binding words: "The Moons will guard you in your times of darkness from this day forth. May their eyes always keep watch over you."

A young Tusken child scampered forward, carrying a sealed clay vessel painted with colorful symbols. As she dashed past Sky-Walker he could hear the scuffling and irritated chirping of the flapper he knew was concealed inside. The flapper symbolized their union, and it would be the duty of the new husband and wife to shatter the vessel and free the creature, that their union may be made public and official in the eyes of the Suns and Moons.

Together, Black-Massif and Rain-Singer slammed the vessel into the hard ground, and the bright blue flapper shook itself free of shards and streaked away, chattering to itself. The tribe broke into applause as the two young Tuskens shared an embrace.

"Ugh, get a tent," muttered Weed.

"What's wrong with them hugging?" demanded Wind-Dancer, approaching at that moment. "You'll never get a wife with that kind of attitude."

"I don't come to weddings for the mushy stuff," Weed retorted, helping himself to a piece of sweet bread and a cup of bright scarlet liquid. "I come for the food."

"No, you come for the chance to drink yourself stupid with cactus-wine," Sky-Walker retorted, snagging a slice of meat from a passing tray. "Not that it takes much to do that..."

"Listen, Lizard, I'm not the one who got so drunk at the last wedding I had to be carried back to my tent by two raiders..."

A scream cut through the revelry, and all heads turned to see four camp guards riding into camp. Three of them brought their beasts to a halt before plowing into the crowd, but the fourth rode straight into the festivities, not stopping until he had reached Stone-Shadow.

"Chief!" the sentry exclaimed. "The night-demon has taken one of our own!"

Gasps and screams filled the camp. Weed jumped at the news, then swore heartily as the bright red wine stained his wrappings.

"Night-demon?" demanded Black-Massif, turning toward Stone-Shadow.

"Our Sons of the Suns foresaw the coming of a night-demon," Stone-Shadow informed his new son-in-law. "We were wary at first, but when he showed no sign of coming near our camp, we relaxed our guard a little. I see that was a grave error."

The sentry dismounted, and now Sky-Walker could see he held a wrapped body in his arms. There was a sick sort of weight in his stomach as he stared at the corpse. Somehow, though a thick blanket concealed the dead man's identity, he knew that it was Thunder-Cry under there.

"We found him and his bantha half a day's journey from camp." He gestured behind him, where the other three guards had dragged the bantha's corpse into camp for the proper death rites. "They died from the most horrible wounds... and yet there is no blood."

More gasps, more screams. Sky-Walker's stomach did a horrible flip. It was common knowledge that night-demons drank the blood of their victims...

The sentry lowered the body to the sands. Stone-Shadow bent over the body and pulled away the covering. Thunder-Cry's body lay on the ground... but his head was no longer attached to his shoulders and rolled a few handspans away from the body. Sky-Walker wanted to be sick... and just behind him he could hear Weed retch as he gave in to that urge.

"He wears a sun-guard!" bellowed Stone-Shadow, removing the amulet from the dead warrior's body. "And his weapon is dragon-blessed! White-Serpent, I gave no permission for you to send warriors after the night-demon!"

White-Serpent raised his hands. "I did not send him after the night-demon! I told him and his men to watch over him! And I blessed him that he might be safe from harm! It's not my fault that he got delusions of grandeur..."

"Fat lot of good those blessings and protections did," groaned Weed, wiping his mouth before replacing his mouth-wrap.

Wind-Dancer shook her head slightly. "Something's not right."

Before Sky-Walker could inquire further, Black-Massif strode forward. He placed a hand on Stone-Shadow's shoulder and spoke to both him and the tribe.

"We of the Serpent Tribe are now your brothers," he said calmly. "This night-demon has not simply killed a warrior of your tribe – he has struck a blow against our tribe as well. Our warriors are the best on Tatooine. We can help you find and defeat this night-demon before he kills again. The blood of this warrior shall be avenged."

Stone-Shadow nodded. "Thank you, Black-Massif. Perhaps, with your help, another tragedy such as this can be averted."

The wedding celebration had been abruptly cut short, naturally, and the tribe began to slowly disperse, some back to their tents, others to comfort Thunder-Cry's parents and sisters. The Sons of the Suns and Daughters of the Moons hurried to their respective tents to prepare for the funeral rites. The Serpent Tribe mounted their banthas to escort Black-Massif and Rain-Singer back to their encampment. A few of the women set themselves to collecting platters of food and cleaning up the mess, and a dazed Weed found himself helping them, though he was so shaken he ended up spilling most of what he carried on himself.

Sky-Walker and Wind-Dancer remained behind to look at Thunder-Cry's body. Sky-Walker found himself shaking with fear. He'd been told Darth Vader was no night-demon... and yet here lay Thunder-Cry, drained of his blood...

Wind-Dancer drew her knife, placed it to Thunder-Cry's arm, and jerked down sharply. A wound opened in his flesh, and she inspected it carefully.

"What are you doing?" demanded Sky-Walker.

"Proving the guards wrong," she replied. "There is blood in Thunder-Cry's veins. This is no night-demon death."

"Then why is there no blood where his head was..." He couldn't finish.

"Because Vader's favorite weapon is a lightsaber," Wind-Dancer answered. "And a lighsaber is not a cutting weapon, but a burning one."

"And burns don't bleed," Sky-Walker realized, relief washing over him. "That makes sense." He looked up at the warriors of the tribe, who were gaping and pointing at their dead comrade. "Are you going to tell them?"

Wind-Dancer shook her head. "They're in no mood to listen. The tribe is going to be in a panic over this, and I doubt they'll listen to reason."

Sky-Walker gazed down at his dead friend. "But we know someone who will listen, don't we?"

_Break..._

Leia wanted to scream in frustration. She had spent a week in Obi-wan's house, presumably to recover from her injuries sustained in the crash, though in her opinion that was just a cop-out. She was doing the Rebellion no good here on this Outer Rim planet! She should be on her way to Alderaan right now, not hiding in the desert.

Obi-wan tried to fill her time as much as he could, asking detailed questions about the Rebellion and teaching her the Tusken language. And Sky-Walker was a welcome distraction when he stopped by, so full of questions about outsider life and always eager to learn her own language. But even their well-meaning intentions did little to assuage her impatience. The Rebellion needed the plans, and soon.

She was about to head to bed early when a fierce pounding shook the door of the hut. Alarmed, she stood to leave the room. Obi-wan gestured for her to stay put and answered the door.

"Is there something wrong, Sky-Walker?"

"Obi-wan!" gasped Sky-Walker, almost falling into the house. "Leia!"

She ran to his side and helped him in. Had he run the entire way here? No, his bantha was tethered outside, its absurdly long tongue flopping out of its mouth as it panted for breath. Both the young Tusken and his mount had exhausted themselves trying to get here.

"The Black One attacks," Sky-Walker blurted in hesitant Basic. "My friend..." He murmured the name in Tusken.

"Thunder-Cry," Obi-wan clarified.

"Thunder-Cry... dead."

That stopped Leia cold. Vader had attacked the Tusken tribe?

"Dead?" asked Obi-wan. "When did this happen?"

"Not sunset yet," he replied, stumbling over the words. "Guards come to camp... one holds Thunder-Cry... his head cut off..." He shuddered. "No blood."

Obi-wan nodded, then turned to Leia. "It sounds as if Thunder-Cry encountered Vader while on sentry duty and foolishly challenged him."

Unexpectedly, she found her heart aching for Sky-Walker. The Dark Lord was no kinder to his people than to the rest of the galaxy. And while some might classify Sky-Walker as a mere savage, she wasn't going to dismiss his pain simply because he was Tusken. He had acted far more nobly toward her than many so-called humans had, and that, in her mind, made him that much more civilized.

She embraced him tightly. "I'm sorry," she said in Tusken. "I wish I can help."

He returned her embrace. "Is not your fault," he replied in Basic. "But... it hurts."

"Is Wind-Dancer with you?" asked Obi-wan, using Tusken this time.

Sky-Walker replied in the same language, and Leia caught few of the words. Obi-wan nodded and explained for Leia: "She had to stay behind to help the Daughters of the Moons prepare for Thunder-Cry's funeral."

"Tell him to pass this message on to her," Leia replied. "The tribe MUST stay far away from Darth Vader at all costs. Don't even approach him. If any guards or scouts see him, they must run as fast as they can in the other direction. And if he comes near the tribe, break camp and move if you have to. I won't see your people suffer because of me."

Sky-Walker nodded as Obi-wan translated. "I tell Wind-Dancer," he vowed. "She tell tribe."

"Yes," Leia replied. "And Sky-Walker... be safe."

He understood that phrase, and he reached out and clasped her hands in his. "Be safe, Leia."

Unexpectedly she felt tears well in her eyes. "I will, Sky-Walker."

The Tusken held her gaze a little longer, then bowed and strode out of the house. Leia watched him go, marveling that she had forged such a strong bond with a Tusken Raider in such a short time. She would truly miss him when the time came for her to leave the planet.

Obi-wan placed a hand on her shoulder. "I believe you have been in hiding long enough."

"I've been saying that for days," she complained.

He didn't seem to hear her. "I had hoped that if you laid low long enough, Vader would give up and leave. That doesn't seem to be the case. Our best hope is that we can get you off the planet before he realizes you're gone." He sighed wearily. "When Sky-Walker and Wind-Dancer come tomorrow, I'll make arrangements for you to go back to camp with them. Meanwhile, I must secure some kind of transport."


	8. Hiding in Plain Sight

**Chapter 8 -- Hiding In Plain Sight**

Light-Drinker's entire body shook as his ancient bantha plodded across the dry cracked ground toward the Serpent Tribe's encampment. Like most of the Sons of the Suns, he had never set foot outside the camp boundaries before – to a Son, the ground outside camp was unclean. And now he was about to commit far deeper sacrilege in straying into the territory of another tribe, of another faction of the Sons of the Suns.

It wasn't as if the Sons were forbidden from traveling. On the contrary, on occasion it was necessary – a wedding between members of different tribes, for example, required the presence of a Son. And when a war party set off to engage an enemy tribe or outsider battalion, a Son generally accompanied them to provide wards and warnings. But the Son would have to purify himself for days after such a jaunt, and the purification rituals were both painful and time-consuming. Thus, they avoided travel whenever they could.

"Stop shaking," chided White-Serpent, his own bantha bringing up the rear. "You look like a scared child."

"Eldest Brother, you know what sort of foul practices the Serpent Tribe's priesthood permits. They sacrifice their own people to the Suns, by sands! Can I not help but be a little frightened?"

"To be a little frightened is no shame," White-Serpent retorted. "To be on the verge of soiling your wrappings is something else altogether. Ah, there it is. Let's go in."

Light-Drinker spotted the Temple of the Suns and kicked his mount forward. Luckily, unlike the Redrock Tribe, the Serpent Tribe kept their Temple of the Suns on the outskirts of camp rather than in the center. Also unlike the Redrock Tribe, this tent was not stitched together from common beast hides, but carefully crafted from the entire hide of a mature krayt dragon. The beast's head was still intact, and it seemed to loom over Light-Drinker with a savage grin, polished red stones set in its eye sockets to simulate true eyes. He couldn't help but shudder as he and White-Serpent dismounted and approached the tent flap.

"Come in, Redrock rats," ordered a lazy voice from within the tent. "I know you're out there, I can smell you from in here."

White-Serpent strode in easily. Light-Drinker swallowed and ventured in.

The sight that met his eyes was almost enough to send him sprawling. It was luxury! Soft massif hides dyed in fabulous colors lay upon the floor, and fat cushions marked sleeping areas. A tall clay jar of sweet-smelling cactus wine sat in one corner, wrapped in wet hides to keep it cool. In another corner, a clay pot of sweet herbs burned. Seated on a large cushion in the center of the tent was a powerfully built Tusken man, his robes embroidered in gold with dragons and flames, a bone pendant carved in the shape of the double suns hanging at his throat. A Daughter of the Moons stood behind him, kneading the muscles in his shoulders to work out the kinks. Unlike the Daughters Light-Drinker was familiar with, this one wore plain robes, no jewelry, and wrappings that were tied so snugly they showed the shape of her body beneath.

The Tusken laughed indulgently at Light-Drinker's surprise. "What, and do the Sons of the Suns not deserve a reward for their work for the tribe?"

White-Serpent sat down before him. "The suns frown upon such indulgences in their children, Eldest Brother..."

"Shadow-Blade," the Eldest Brother of the Serpent Tribe's Sons of the Suns replied. "And none of this Eldest Brother folderol either. We are equals, are we not, White-Serpent?"

White-serpent nodded. "Equals, then."

Shadow-Blade barked an order at the Daughter, who left off her shoulder-rub and went to the wine-jar.

"How is it that the Daughters serve you?" asked Light-Drinker, at once fascinated and terrified.

"It's a matter of showing them who's in charge," Shadow-Blade replied easily, taking the bowl of wine from her. "And making the tribe realize just who holds the true power. The Daughters may cast pretty spells... but the Sons hold the future in their hands."

"I wish our tribe had more respect for us," White-Serpent murmured, accepting a bowl of wine.

Shadow-Blade laughed. "You want some luxury for yourselves?"

"Luxury is secondary," White-Serpent replied. "But a little acknowledgment for the role we play, a little recognition for our contributions to the tribe, would be nice."

Light-Drinker waved away the Daughter of the Moons when she offered him wine. Sons of the Suns were not supposed to drink wine... at least, that was what he had been taught. And yet Shadow-Blade drank freely, and White-Serpent had taken a bowl...

"So speak, my friend," Shadow-Blade insisted. "Why did you insist on a private meeting? And who is this eavesdropper you have brought with you?"

"Light-Drinker is my most trusted advisor," White-Serpent replied. "As for the reason for this meeting... we need your help, and the help of your brotherhood."

Shadow-Blade laughed deeply. "Ah, my friend, you DO need help. I see it plainly. You've let your Daughters of the Moons overrun you for too long, and they think they're in charge now. They need someone to give them a swift kick in the seat and put them back in their proper place. The question is how to do so without upsetting your entire tribe..."

"I know of a means," White-Serpent replied, leaning forward slightly. "A night-demon."

Shadow-Blade slowly lowered his wine bowl. "The one that killed your warrior?"

"The very same. I do not know why the little imbecile chose to attack alone, but he paid for his stupidity with his life... and now we have the suspicion of Chief Stone-Shadow to deal with, not to mention the prying eyes of the Daughters."

"Ah, you seek to capture the night-demon," Shadow-Blade observed, voice full of amusement. "To increase your standing in the tribe as heroes... and perhaps to harness his power as well?"

White-Serpent nodded. "You are perceptive."

Shadow-Blade laughed again. "Making the best out of a bad situation, eh? Well, my good friend, it's a brilliant idea, but I don't see how you can pull it off. Your tribe isn't exactly renowned for its prowess in battle, you know."

"Which is why I hoped..." White-Serpent began.

"For our tribe to donate forces?" Shadow-Blade finished. "Why my friend, you have only to ask. Our chief's mind is slipping badly; his son oversees most tribal affairs, but most of the warriors have grown accustomed to answering to me. They will help you track down and capture this night-demon. Keeping him contained is another story altogether... but it can be done, it can be done."

"But... but how DO you contain a night-demon?" gawked Light-Drinker.

"It isn't easy," Shadow-Blade replied. "First, of course, you must physically capture him. Second, you'll need the strength of an exceptionally powerful Son of the Suns or Daughter of the Moons to keep him under control -- though in this case, I'd suggest a Son. Third... a sacrifice."

"A sacrifice?" repeated White-Serpent, a hint of disgust trickling into his voice.

"A young woman, pure in heart and soul," Shadow-Blade replied. "Her blood will sate the night-demon's hunger and allow the Son of the Suns to bind him with his own powers. You will have a willing slave to your cause. I promise you that."

White-Serpent thought on this. "We have no Sons with strong powers."

"None at all?" Shadow-Blade handed his bowl to the Daughter of the Moons and signaled for a refill. "Well, you could always use one of my..."

"Wait," interrupted Light-Drinker, inspiration striking at that instant. "Lizard."

The two Elder Brothers turned to stare at him.

"Son of Red-Dragon and Moon-Blossom," Light-Drinker continued, trying to infuse some confidence in his voice. "He has power, I have sensed it. Great power. And his adulthood ceremony takes place tomorrow evening."

White-Serpent nodded slowly. "Unless a vision states otherwise, I see no reason why Lizard could not become a Son of the Suns."

Shadow-Blade chuckled. "That's one obstacle down. The young woman..."

"Must it be Tusken?" asked Light-Drinker plaintively. "Will not an outsider do?"

"An outsider would do just fine," Shadow-Blade replied to Light-Drinker's intense relief. "Night-demons don't discriminate."

"Then I shall have our warriors keep an eye out for young outsider women," said White-Serpent.

"And my own men shall keep watch for one," Shadow-Blade promised. "Until then... may the Suns watch over you, brothers."

"May the Suns watch over you, Shadow-Blade," replied White-Serpent, standing and bowing.

Light-Drinker was more than willing to get out of that place. There was something about seeing a Son of the Suns live like a chief that gave him the chills. And there was an aura of darkness that clung to Shadow-Blade as tightly as a second set of wrappings. If White-Serpent's plot to raise the Sons higher in the eyes of the Redrock Tribe succeeded, would they, too, bear the stain of evil, even as they gained their rewards?

It was not a comforting thought.

_Break..._

Obi-wan had by now decided that he probably preferred the company of Tusken Raiders to the company of so-called "civilized beings" here in Mos Eisley.

"Jaunt to Alderaan without running into the Empire? Forget it," grumbled the Duros he was questioning at the moment. "Impossible mission if I ever heard of one. Alderaan's crawling with Imps."

"My apologies for bothering you then, and thank you for the warning," Obi-wan replied, infusing as much sincerety into his tone as he could muster, and he stood and left the pilot's table.

He scanned the cantina, squinting to make out faces in the smoke and gloom. This was supposedly a popular stop for pilots, especially ones who were adept at avoiding Imperial entanglements. But so far he hadn't found one that was willing to chance the journey. Well, not one that he trusted to get himself and Leia all the way, anyhow. There had been one who had been quite willing, but the lecherous gleam in his eyes when he heard one of the passengers would be female had warned Obi-wan off instantly.

He took a seat at the bar between a half-drunk Aqualish and two bickering Gotals, signaling the bartender for a drink. His stomach rumbled, making a request of its own, but he ignored it for the time being. Food at places like this was generally of dubious origin and even more dubious edibility...

A shaggy paw landed on his shoulder, and he turned to find himself staring into the face of a massive, hairy creature with striking blue eyes. The Wookie cocked his head inquisitively and growled softly. The bartender backed instinctively away, and the two Gotals swiftly made themselves scarce.

Obi-wan merely cocked an eyebrow. "Why yes, I'm looking for a ship."

The Wookie barked helpfully.

"A fast ship? And a good pilot?"

He nodded and growled.

"Why, thank you, my friend..."

He corrected Obi-wan with a little growl.

"Thank you, Chewbacca. If you would lead me to him..."

Chewbacca waved him over to a corner booth. Obi-wan followed the Wookie to the table, where a rougish, somewhat scruffy man leaned back nonchalantly as he spoke with his tablemate, a rather belligerant-looking Rodian who had a blaster trained on the man.

"Well, I don't have the money _with _me right now..." the man said casually.

The Rodian retorted in a weird, oddly resonant voice, his finger tightening on the trigger.

"Excuse me, sir," Obi-wan told the alien. "I hate to interrupt your conversation, but I have some pressing business to be discussing with..."

"Han Solo," the man offered.

"With Mr. Solo. If you will excuse us for a moment..."

The Rodian swore violently in his native tongue and whipped his gun around to aim at Obi-wan. Without thinking he reached for his saber, but common sense overrode instinct and he had to freeze. If he drew the weapon here, troops -- and Vader -- would be after him within the hour. He and Leia could make it off the planet in time, but he'd hoped for a little more time...

A flash of scarlet light burst beneath the table, and the Rodian keeled forward and landed in a smoking heap on the floor. Solo pulled his gun out from under the table and gestured for Obi-wan to have a seat.

"Sorry about the mess," he apologized with a grin.

"Thank you, Mr. Solo," Obi-wan told him, this time with genuine sincerety. He slid into the seat and faced the man. Corellian, he judged -- he had the shrewd face to prove it, as well as the symbolic bloodstripes on his trousers to signify some heroism or other. He looked to be the sort of man who had traveled the length and breadth of the galaxy a few times and had been in his share of scrapes, and he further judged that this man tended to be prideful and self-centered, but he could sense a good heart beneath the exterior.

Chewbacca leaned over and growled a little at Han, who nodded and turned back to Obi-wan.

"Chewie tells me you're looking for passage to Alderaan."

"Perhaps," Obi-wan replied. "If it's a fast ship."

"Fast ship?" repeated Han, arching an eyebrow. "You've never heard of the Millennium Falcon?"

He shrugged. "Should I have?"

"She's the ship who made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs."

Obi-wan offered no reaction. He recognized a common ploy experienced spacers attempted to use to jack up prices for oblivious, ignorant passengers. Han realized Obi-wan wasn't going to take the bait and continued.

"She's fast enough for you, old man. What's the cargo?"

"Just passengers. Myself, a young woman, two droids... and no questions asked."

Han's other eyebrow went up. "What is it, some kind of local trouble?"

"Let's just say we want to avoid any... Imperial entanglements."

"Well, that's the trick, isn't it?" Han replied with a slight smile. "And it's gonna cost you. Ten thousand, all in advance."

Obi-wan showed no reaction, but inside his stomach sank slightly. He had been hoping Han would accept payment after the journey. But then, few spacers who frequented places like this did. They knew that if they didn't insist on payment up front, more than half their customers would somehow dupe them out of payment later.

Perhaps, however, he could work out a deal that would benefit both of them...

"I'll give you two thousand now," he replied. "Plus fifteen thousand more when we reach Alderaan."

Han's eyes widened just slightly, and Chewie gave a pleased rumble.

"Seventeen, huh?" the pilot noted, keeping his tone nonchalant. "Well then, you've got yourself a ship. When do you plan on leaving?"

"In two days' time. An afternoon departure would be best."

"All right, I'll meet you at Docking Bay 94 day after tomorrow. See you then."

"One more thing -- there is a possibility of another passenger joining us at the last minute. Do you object at all?"

"So long as there's no trouble, no," Han replied.

Obi-wan nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Solo. I shall see you in two days' time."

As he stood and left the table, he overheard the Corellian gush excitedly to his Wookie friend. "Seventeen thousand! That guy must be desperate. This could really save my neck, Chewie..."

He ducked out of the cantina, blinking his eyes against the suddenly bright light outside. There, the easy part was over. Now for the hardest part of all.

He knew that he likely would not return to Tatooine after leaving with Leia. Too much was going on in the galaxy. The Alliance had searched long and hard for a Jedi Knight, and when one appeared bearing one of their greatest leaders, they would hardly let him walk away from them and back into danger. That meant he had two days left to accomplish the impossible...

To convince Luke to go with them. To inform him of his past... and his destiny.

_Break..._

Leia kept her head low as she knelt before the Redrock Tribe's chief, hoping she was not trembling as much as she felt like she was. All the stories she had heard about Tusken Raiders, once dismissed as myths, suddenly thrust to the surface of her mind and warred with reason. Stories of human sacrifice, brutal rituals, torture of captives...

The chief's tent was only slightly larger than any other living tent. The furnishings consisted of reptile hides spread upon the ground and cushions scattered here and there for sitting. Wicked skulls painted in vivid reds and blues hung from the walls, and several guns -- no doubt taken from captive humans -- were propped in a corner for later use. Chief Stone-Shadow himself sat cross-legged before her, gazing upon her steadily, unmoving. A warrior stood on each side of him, each wearing a chain of animal teeth and carrying a gleaming gaderffi. Leia herself was flanked by two Tuskens -- Sky-Walker, who knelt on her left, and Wind-Dancer, who stood at her right side and addressed the chief. Though there were only five Tuskens in the tent, she still felt surrounded... and yet strangely isolated.

"Sky-Walker found this woman this morning, Stone-Shadow," she was saying. "She was delirious and babbling gibberish, he says, but she improved upon drinking some water. She is still disoriented, however, and can't seem to remember where her tribe is... or even who they are, for that matter. The Daughters of the Moons suspect she suffered a head injury."

Stone-Shadow was a few minutes in replying. "Any hints as to her calling?"

Leia wondered what he meant by calling, but Wind-Dancer went on: "Her robes suggest a Daughter of the Moons, but if she wore jewelry or ornaments or carried a staff, those were lost in her wanderings." She placed a hand on Leia's shoulder. "If it pleases the chief, we would like to keep her with the other Daughters and see if we can do something to restore her memory."

Silence. Then the chief waved them away. "Take her to the supply tent and give her something to eat. Then set her up with lodgings in the Temple of the Moons. The Redrock Tribe has always offered shelter to Tuskens in need. But the moment she regains her memory, send her back to her tribe. The last thing we need at this time is an angry horde of enemy tribesmen claiming we've kidnapped their holy woman."

"It will be done, Chief Stone-Shadow," Wind-Dancer replied, bowing before helping Leia to her feet and leading her out of the tent, Sky-Walker at their heels.

"Whew!" breathed Sky-Walker. "I thought he would have her thrown out..."

"The one thing Stone-Shadow is not is unfeeling," Wind-Dancer said sternly. She turned to Leia. "Are you all right?"

Leia nodded, feeling much of the tension drain out of her now that they were no longer before the chief. She absently reached up and tugged at her veil with gloved fingers. This Tusken costume felt awkward, to say the very least. Sky-Walker had impressed upon her that she must keep her face covered at all times -- exposure of flesh could get her thrown out of the camp. But she was unused to being completely sealed off from the world like this. And while it did protect her from the suns, it was also itchy and stuffy, and she wasn't at all sure how she was to eat or take care of other, more private needs...

"The wrappings allow for all necessary functions," Wind-Dancer assured her. "And do try to relax. You did well before the chief. He does not suspect your identity."

"The chief mentioned callings," Leia said quietly. "What did he mean by that?"

"When a Tusken reaches his eighteenth birthing-day," explained Sky-Walker, "he or she undergoes their Adulthood Ceremony. They select their adult names, undergo a rite of passage, and are given their callings -- their tasks for life. For example, Wind-Dancer was chosen as a Daughter of the Moons. Our father was chosen as a dragon hunter, our mother as a weaver. Even the chief was called to his position."

Leia frowned. "You don't get to choose your future?"

"No," Sky-Walker replied. "Why do you ask?"

She tried to find the words to explain. "We... outsiders choose our own futures. Having someone else choose for us would be unthinkable."

Sky-Walker stared at her awhile. "But there are so many choices to make. How do you know you have chosen the right path for your future?"

She shrugged. "I suppose you just hope and pray that you made the right choice."

He shook his head. "I think I like our people's way better. After all, the spirits usually know best."

She didn't think it would be wise to argue. "So... what is your calling, Sky-Walker?"

"Oh, my eighteenth birthing-day isn't until tomorrow," he replied. "So I don't know yet. But I'm excited to find out."

She paused to calculate the time that had passed since her crash-landing here -- she had been careful to moniter the date while at Obi-wan's. "That's strange. That's my birthing-day too."

Sky-Walker laughed. "We share a birthing-day! That's amazing!"

Wind-Dancer extended her hand. "Come with me, Leia. It's time we got you to bed. You've had a long day."

"See you at my Adulthood Ceremony!" Sky-Walker shouted.

Leia laughed. "I wouldn't miss it for the galaxy," she assured him.

_Break..._

"Lord Vader, I think you should see this."

Vader stalked to the corner of the main sitting room, which had been converted to a tech room for their mission here. A trooper manning a scanner that had mapped out the surrounding area pointed to an ominous blip on the screen.

"Life-forms, and large ones," he pointed out. "Traveling in a straight line, too. None of the native beasts do that, at least naturally."

Vader felt his rage stirring to life again. Tuskens. It had to be Tuskens. It was common knowledge that they rode banthas and traveled in single file to hide their numbers. And if the scanner was to be believed, a party of them was approaching their base at a swift clip.

He clenched his fist, and in response the trooper clutched his throat with a sickly gurgle. Why could those monsters never leave him in peace? Had his actions over twenty years ago cursed him for life? Would the savages forever harry him every time he traveled the planet?

The trooper swayed on his feet. Vader released him from his hold and strode out of the room, leaving the man gasping for breath. Killing the trooper would bring no relief from his rage. Only direct action.

There were five of the animals bearing down upon the house when he walked outside, four holding gaderffis aloft, the fifth aiming a projectile weapon of some sort. The afternoon sunlight gleamed on their black reptile-skin cloaks, and chains of snake's teeth glittered at their throats. Their eerie war howls seemed only to stir the fury inside him to greater potency, and he let the fury course through his veins, invigorating him, hardening him for the coming battle...

The blasts from the projectile rifle were deflected with a flick of his hand. The weapon hurled itself out of its owner's hands and struck the lead Tusken in the back, flinging him from his mount and directly into the path of his comrades. He was crushed beneath the banthas' feet before the riders could break their steeds.

The remaining Tuskens leaped down to the sands and charged, weapons held high. Vader ignited his own weapon and struck, a cyclone of destruction among them, a black-and-scarlet angel of death that darted and danced among the clumsy, crude fighters. He was no longer himself, but an extension of the dark side, immersed in the black power.

One Tusken let out a savage roar, and a stream of blood shot from the mouthpiece of his face mask. The vile liquid spattered Vader's mask and chestplate, and the ugly metallic stench of it filled his air intake vent. Growling his rage, he struck at the offending beast, bisecting him from left shoulder to right hip. Another Tusken stepped forward to avenge his comrade, but doubled over Vader's fist as he drove his saber to the hilt into the warrior's gut.

The dark side hissed a warning, and he whirled and slashed at the Tusken attempting an attack from behind. The scarlet blade sheared off his arm, then took off his head. The body fell to the sands in pieces.

He resumed his battle stance and awaited the final Tusken, but he never attacked. When he looked at the banthas again, all hysterical from having lost their riders, he only counted four. The fifth Tusken must have opted to abandon the fight. Good riddance.

Leaving the field of carnage, he strode back into the house. Several of his troops offered shocked stares at the sight of their commanding officer covered in blood.

"Sir, are you injured..." began one soldier.

"Clean up the mess outside," he snarled. "I will be in my quarters -- and I am NOT to be disturbed."

_Break_

AUTHOR'S QUICK NOTE: If you found the image of a Tusken spitting blood somewhat gruesome, sorry. And if you're wondering if such an action is even canon -- according to the _Star Wars Visual Dictionary: Attack of the Clones, _certain Tuskens are said to spit streams of blood during battle, though whether this is due to a device built into the wrappings or a physiological quirk of the species (like the horned lizards of Earth that shoot blood from their eyes) is never stated. I decided, for the purposes of this fic, that the trait would be confined to one tribe in particular, the Serpent Tribe.

Now back to our regularly scheduled fic...


	9. Son of the Suns

**Chapter 9 -- Son of the Suns**

It was late afternoon, and the entire camp was abuzz with activity, preparing for Sky-Walker's Adulthood Ceremony. Delicious smells permeated the dry air as the women readied food for the feast, and the hunters kept busy harvesting enough game from the surrounding wildlands to ensure everyone in the tribe would eat well tonight. The young men were hard-pressed to collect enough fuel for the cooking fires and the ceremonial flames that would take place tonight. The Sons of the Suns shut themselves up in their Temple to divine Sky-Walker's future path, while the Daughters of the Moons made their own preparations for their part in the ceremony.

Leia helped Wind-Dancer erect what seemed to be a canopy formed from bantha-bone poles and a krayt dragon's skin. "Is Sky-Walker important to your tribe? This seems rather elaborate for a coming-of-age ceremony."

"Children are tender, Leia," Wind-Dancer replied. "Our land is harsh. When a child not only survives the harshness, but thrives in it, it is cause for celebration, is it not?"

"Yes, it is," Leia acknowledged.

Wind-Dancer laughed slightly. "This is an important day for Sky-Walker. For it not only proclaims him an adult, but it decides the path he will tread for the rest of his life. He will be very excited... and he may act a little stupidly. Please be understanding."

She nodded. "Of course. I'm fond of him."

Wind-Dancer inclined her head forward, a gesture Leia had learned represented a frown. "Fond of him?"

"He saved my life. And he's cared for my welfare ever since. How can I not be fond of him?"

The Tusken woman shook her head. "I counseled Sky-Walker on this, and I will counsel you. Do not lose your heart to him. You are outsider, and he is Tusken. It will only lead to heartbreak."

Leia blinked, then laughed slightly. "No, not like that, Wind-Dancer. He's my friend."

Wind-Dancer seemed to relax a little, but remained quiet as she straightened a pole.

"Wind-Dancer, I know you worry for your brother," Leia told her. "And while I don't know how you feel, since I'm an only child, I can understand your worry. Please know that I would never do anything to hurt Sky-Walker."

Wind-Dancer nodded slowly. "I believe you, Leia. I truly do. And I know Sky-Walker, likewise, would not wish harm upon you." She released the pole she held and stepped back to admire their handiwork. "There, that's done. Now I need to collect the old man. You may accompany me, if you wish."

"Old man?"

"Obi-wan insisted he be present for Sky-Walker's Adulthood ceremony," Wind-Dancer replied, a slight exasperated edge in her voice. "I don't see why, outsiders normally aren't present at such things..."

"Wind-Dancer, I'm an outsider," Leia reminded her.

"Yes, but not for tonight. Tonight you are one of us. Do not forget that, even for a moment, or someone will suspect you." She gave a keening whistle.

At the signal, a great silver hulk separated itself from the rest of the bantha herd and shuffled its way toward the two women, myriad bells and chains draped about its form ringing with every step. Wind-Dancer helped Leia onto his back, then mounted behind. With a sharp command and a nudge of the heels, the beast turned about and began the slow journey toward Obi-wan's house.

_Break..._

The moons were half-gone tonight, pale eyes half-lidded as if in sleep. Stars flecked the dark sky, gold dust scattered on rich black velvet. The surrounding dunes shone red-gold in the light of the bonfires, the sands sparkling from the play of flame-light and moonlight upon their grains. The tents cast flickering shadows upon the sand, and the biting-cold night air was soon warmed and perfumed with smoke, fragrant herbs, and roasting meat as the celebration carried on.

Sky-Walker wasn't sure whether to kick up his heels in joy or simply bend over and throw up in nervousness. He settled instead for smoothing out the folds of the krayt-dragon-skin cape he was wearing for tonight's ceremony. The dragon was a symbol of a young Tusken's journey from child to adult, for as the dragon burst forth from the egg already a powerful predator, so a Tusken emerged from childhood as a fighter, a warrior, an adult ready to bear responsibility in the tribe and affect its destiny.

He watched a dragon hunter stop at a wine jar to fill his bowl, noting the man's heavy limp and three missing fingers with a shudder. It had once been tradition for a young Tusken to kill a krayt dragon in order to pass into adulthood, but the custom had killed and crippled so many young Tuskens that eventually it had been altered to spare their kind from extinction. Now a young Tusken simply had to "fight" and "slay" a puppet-image of a dragon, then undergo the proper rituals before receiving his name and calling.

"Sky-Walker?"

He turned around. "Obi-wan?"

The old Jedi raised a finger to silence him, and Sky-Walker saw why immediately. Obi-wan had concealed himself from the tribe's view by wearing Tusken wrappings. Smart move -- even if many members of the tribe knew the outsider meant them no harm, they would probably object to having him witness a sacred ritual.

"How did you get here?" asked Sky-Walker.

"Your sister brought me," he replied, nodding at the bonfire where the Daughters of the Moons had gathered. "I wished to be present at your Adulthood Ceremony, and she has obliged me. Though I don't believe she is very happy about it."

"Why wouldn't she be?"

Obi-wan sighed. "It is a long story, my friend, for another time."

Before he could pry any further, a hand slapped his shoulder.

"Lizard, c'mon!" Weed hissed in his ear. "You're gonna be late for your own Adulthood Ceremony!"

"I'll talk to you later, Obi-wan," Sky-Walker vowed, then followed Weed to the bonfire.

"Who's the old guy?" asked Weed. "Never seen him before. What's his calling?"

Sky-Walker had to think a moment. "Remember the woman we found yesterday in the desert? That's a member of her tribe. After the ceremony tonight, he's going to take her back to her camp." That was at least partially the truth, he decided.

"Good," sighed Weed. "The whole tribe'll be relieved to see her go. I don't think anyone wants a war with another tribe."

"We have the Serpent Tribe," Sky-Walker pointed out. "They should protect us."

"Ha!" barked Weed. "You really want to depend on a bunch of blood-spitting barbarians for protection?"

"Weed," said Star-Thief sternly, stepping forward at that moment, resplendent in her snakeskin cloak. "Back to your place, young pup. Lizard comes forward alone."

Weed gave Sky-Walker a good-luck gesture, then scuttled back to join his family. Star-Thief took Sky-Walker's arm and led him toward the bonfire, where the Sons of the Suns, Daughters of the Moons, and his parents had gathered, solemn witnesses to his ascension to manhood.

"Don't be afraid," Star-Thief assured him. "The Suns and Moons know your path. And they shall shine upon it and reveal it to you tonight."

Sky-Walker didn't trust himself to speak, only nodded dumbly. Star-Thief took his gaderffi, wrapped its grip in a chain of dragon's teeth, and handed it back solemnly. Then she gestured to the bonfire.

The krayt dragon stared back balefully, its gray-white scales and ivory fangs glistening in the firelight, the polished red stones that replaced its eyes seeming to take him in calculatingly. He swallowed hard. Even knowing that this was just a puppet, a contraption of poles and skin and a few mischievous young Tusken men inside the thing to work it, did little to control the instinctive fear that squeezed at his gut. And knowing that the entire tribe was watching him in this ceremonial battle made his palms sweat beneath his gloves.

The false dragon opened its mouth, and one of the young men inside gave a chillingly accurate imitation of its hunting cry. Then it lunged, clawed forepaws extended.

Sky-Walker swung at the beast, but his blow went wide, and he staggered. He could hear someone in the tribe sniggering at him, possibly Weed. Growling in frustration, he righted himself and struck again. This time the weapon glanced across one foreleg, slicing through the hide and exposing the bone pole that operated the limb.

He turned quickly to glance over the audience, trying to find Obi-wan and Leia among the crowd. Now that they were in Tusken wrappings, it was hard to pick them out. But he didn't have a lot of time to search, for the mock-dragon had struck again, this time hitting his side and bowling him over. The tribe groaned in dismay.

_Rise, Sky-Walker._ Obi-wan's voice filled his head, a command without sound_. Stand and face it. Don't let yourself be distracted. Let go of your feelings and instead rely on instinct._

Obi-wan's voice filled his head, a command without sound.

Shakily, he obeyed, though his entire body tingled from the power of Obi-wan's mind touching his own. How did he do that? None of the Sons and very few of the Daughters had the power of mindspeech. Were the outsider's Jedi powers really so strong?

_The Force is a powerful ally, Sky-Walker. And it is strong with you. Let it flow through you. Let it direct your actions._

The dragon lunged again, but this time Sky-Walker jumped back to avoid the slash. He knew he was doing a sorry job at this. Even most children could take on and best the mock-dragon, no matter who was inside directing it. But for some reason having the eyes of the entire tribe upon him was interfering horribly...

_It's going to go for your legs._

That was no voice this time, but his own thoughts, his own convictions. The next blow would be for his legs. He couldn't say how he knew that -- he just knew.

A calm infused him. He braced himself in a battle stance, feet spaced wide apart, gaderffi gripped in both hands. He watched intently as one forepaw lashed out to sweep his feet out from under him.

One blow from the gaderffi sent the striking forepaw sailing over the heads of the tribe, leaving a ragged stump that completed its swing impotently. Another blow slashed a gaping rent in the chest of the creature, revealing the masked faces of Scrub and Rat, two of the tribe's young men. He could see them haul at some sort of pulley mechanism, and the dragon's head lowered, jaws agape, to snap at him.

Sky-Walker never saw the fearsome head coming down, but he somehow _felt _it striking, _felt _it lowering for what would have been the kill had the beast been living. And he held his ground until the last possible moment, ramming the bladed end of his weapon upward only when the hideous maw opened just over his head. In a living krayt the motion would have punched through the roof of its mouth and pierced the brain, but here it only tore into the hide and snapped the bone framework keeping the shape of the head and neck intact. The false dragon's now-shapeless head and neck hung limply, a mockery of its former menace.

"Well met, Lizard!" declared Stone-Shadow, pumping his fist, and at that motion the entire tribe erupted in applause. Sky-Walker beamed -- praise from the chief was a rare thing indeed.

"Well done, my son," Red-Dragon told him, embracing him. "Had that been a real krayt, it would lie dead at your feet now."

He inhaled deeply, feeling a ray of hope pierce his anxiety. Perhaps the Sons and Daughters would take this latest battle into account and make his calling that of a dragon hunter?

White-Serpent and Star-Thief strode forward at that moment. "Red-Dragon and Moon-Blossom," the Eldest Brother of the Sons of the Suns intoned, "for eighteen summers you have raised this young man, taught him and sustained him, that he might serve the tribe. You have done well and should be pleased with your work. Now, we ask that you turn him over to us, that we may decide what path is best suited for his feet. Say your goodbyes and go."

Red-Dragon embraced him again, then strode away. Moon-Blossom held him for a longer time, and he could hear her breath catch behind her veil as she wept for her youngest child. He broke away as soon as he politely could, feeling slightly awkward for making his mother cry.

"Lizard," Star-Thief said, taking Sky-Walker's chin and forcing him to look her in the eye, "the name you now bear is but a child name, a shield against the demons of the night. Now that you are a man, the Suns and the Moons are your guardians, and you have no more need for it. Shed your cloak and, with it, your childhood name, and cast both into the flames."

He removed the dragon-skin cloak and tossed it toward the bonfire. Flames and cinders billowed outward as it landed, then it began smoking profusely, the scales curling from the heat. When it finally burst into flames, White-Serpent cleared his throat to get his attention.

"Choose your new name," the Son of the Suns ordered. "And choose wisely, for it will label you for life."

"Sky-Walker," he replied instantly.

"You're sure?" White-Serpent requested.

"Very sure."

"Then welcome to the Redrock Tribe, Sky-Walker, as a man at last." He raised one hand, his glove white with ash, and marked Sky-Walker's brow. "The Suns shed their light upon you."

"Welcome to the Redrock Tribe, Sky-Walker, as a man at last," Star-Thief repeated, and she also marked his brow, this time with black ash. "The Moons drive the dark from you."

Somewhere a drum began to throb, and a haunting melody arose from Wind-Dancer's throat, a song without words. Warriors thumped the ends of their rifles and gaderffis into the ground in time with the beat, making the entire camp pulse as if with a heartbeat of its own. Sky-Walker felt his own heart unexpectedly soar with the music.

"The Sons have thought long and hard on your future path," White-Serpent said in a weighty tone. "This is not a decision we make lightly. For not only will this decide your destiny, but it will affect the very destiny of this tribe. All our lives are tied into this choice..."

A distant howl began to make itself known over the music. Sky-Walker tried to ignore it and keep his attention on White-Serpent.

"The spirits have decided your path, Sky-Walker," he went on. "And the Sons have accepted their decision. You have many talents and many gifts, young man, and it is only upon this path that you can put them to good use."

The howl was slowly growing louder. A few heads were turning in the direction of the noise, but for the most part the tribe's attention was focused on the ceremony.

White-Serpent turned and accepted an item from Light-Drinker. It was customary to give a young Tusken a token upon assigning them their calling in order to physically place their new responsibility upon them. For a dragon hunter, it was often a chain of teeth; for a warrior, a knife; for a healer, an herb bag; and so forth. Sky-Walker tried to get a good look at it...

_Stars, Moons, and Suns, no..._

White-Serpent held a clay amulet bearing the double suns.

The howling was too loud to ignore now. Sky-Walker found himself morbidly wishing that whatever was making that racket would hurry and get to camp. Maybe if the ceremony was interrupted, he could somehow avoid this calling...

"Sky-Walker, the Sons of the Suns welcome you into our brotherhood as..." began White-Serpent, raising the amulet to drape it around his neck.

Wind-Dancer screamed.

Had five meters and a dozen priests and priestesses not separated brother and sister at the moment, Sky-Walker would have run straight for her and embraced her then and there. For her cry made White-Serpent freeze in place... and drew the attention of the tribe toward the mad rider who charged into camp at that moment, scattering Sons and Daughters as he spurred his bantha almost into the bonfire. White-Serpent himself was knocked over and sprawled onto his back, the amulet skittering away across the sands.

"What is the meaning of..." snarled Star-Thief, pulling herself out of the lap of the startled metal collector she'd fallen on and brushing off her robes, heedless of the fact that her hand was still ash-blackened and just making the mess worse. "Profaning a ritual... ceremony is ruined..."

"Chief of the Redrock Tribe!" bellowed the rider, gasping for breath between words. The Tusken was obviously of the Serpent Tribe, judging from his black snakeskin cloak and the chain of snake's teeth about his neck. And it was not only those trappings that gave him such a fearsome appearance -- blood dripped from his mouthpiece, and in one hand he clutched the severed head of one of his brethren. This he held aloft like a prize from a hunt, either unaware or uncaring that many women of the tribe were screaming or keeling over in dead faints.

"This was not the work of our tribe!" declared Stone-Shadow vehemently. "We have not sent warriors into your territory..."

"To sands with your warriors!" the Serpent-Tribe warrior barked. "This is the work of the night-demon! Five of us rode out to face him... and only I returned to tell the tale!"

The tribe was abuzz with frantic conversation. Sky-Walker backed away... and suddenly found Obi-wan and Princess Leia at his side, with Wind-Dancer fast approaching.

"Know this!" the warrior continued, throwing the head across the fire and at Stone-Shadow's feet. "The blood of our brothers is now mixed with your tribe's blood upon the blade and hands of this night-demon! We will not rest until he is ours! We will not let down our guard until this foul beast is gutted and skinned under the blades of our hunters and warriors! War is declared! War against the Black One!"

Stone-Shadow raised an imperious hand to silence the tribe's shouts of approval. "There will be no war!"

"Then you will sentence us to death!" cried the tribe's healer.

"The only reason this Black One has attacked our people is because we have been fool enough to harass him," Stone-Shadow declared. "I see the Daughters of the Moons were right all along -- attacking him only brings death. From this moment on I forbid anyone of the Redrock Tribe from attacking, approaching, spying upon, or laying a trap for this night-demon. If he is sighted, we will keep our men out of that area. If he approaches us, we will break camp and move. And I would strongly advise the Serpent Tribe to do the same."

The Serpent-Tribe warrior laughed derisively. "And you wonder why the other tribes bully you around so much! Cowards all! Your way will have your entire tribe slaughtered in the end! Black-Massif declares war upon the Black One, and he advises the Redrock Tribe to also take up arms if they are to survive!"

White-Serpent chose that moment to step forward, flanked by his brethren Light-Drinker and Sand-Storm. "The Sons of the Suns offer their aid in the coming battle."

"YOU?" scoffed Weed. "What'll you do, prophesy him to death?"

"We will offer blessings to the warriors," White-Serpent went on, ignoring Weed. "We will keep an eye on the future to anticipate the night-demon's movements. And if the warriors do corner this night-demon... we have means of turning his own powers against him, and even making them serve the tribe."

Wind-Dancer hissed a Basic swear word. "I knew they had a hand in this..."

"Noble, White-Serpent, but I will not have the Sons risk themselves..." began Stone-Shadow.

"You are as transparent as a sacred spring, White-Serpent!" raged Star-Thief, advancing on the Son of the Suns. "You have no desire to help the tribe! You only want to capture this night-demon and use his powers for yourself!"

White-Serpent gazed calmly back. "Not for myself, Star-Thief," he replied. "For the good of the tribe. Think about it -- a night-demon has tremendous power flowing through his veins. If we could harness that power for good, we could shield the tribe from sandstorms, heal the sick, ward off outsider attacks... The tribe would never go hungry or thirsty again. The tribe would never fear attack. We could live in peace and plenty until the Suns and Moons fall from their places in the sky."

Even Star-Thief had to pause at that statement.

"I repeat, White-Serpent, more harm than good can come from interfering with the Black One," said Stone-Shadow sternly. "And I repeat, I want NO one approaching him. Not warriors, not hunters, not sentries, and least of all Sons of the Suns..."

Sand-Storm gave a strange grunt, and he fell to his knees. Leia stepped forward to help him, but Obi-wan and Wind-Dancer held him back.

"What's happening to him?" she asked.

"He's experiencing a vision," Wind-Dancer said softly. "This is a rare thing indeed... and of great import."

Obi-wan nodded gravely. "The Force accelerates things again."

Sky-Walker shook his head, as if that could keep his mind from spinning. Events that took place during an Adulthood Ceremony were not to be taken lightly. Even something as minuscule as a flapper crashing into the bonfire could have an affect on the Tusken's life... but all this during HIS ceremony! A barbaric tribe's representative riding bloody into camp, the Black One taking more lives, the Sons and Daughters playing at intrigue again, the presence of two outsiders... and now a vision! But what did all this mean...

_"The Black One searches for what he cannot have... the Suns will pass not two times more before that which he seeks leaves this world... and the Moons will wax and wane but once before his own dark master is revealed, a dark master whose shadow darkens the outsiders and will soon stretch toward the Tuskens..."_

White-Serpent backed away from Sand-Storm, shaking his head as if in denial. Everyone else just stared, straining to puzzle out the Son's words.

_"...there is only one who can cast back the darkness, and that is one who walks both paths!" _Sand-Storm's crippled arm raised to point at Sky-Walker, his entire frame shaking as if seized by an unspeakable power. _"The one who knows both worlds will bear the light... and in the time of greatest despair there shall come a savior, and he shall be known as the Son of the Suns..."_

Obi-wan jerked at that last, as if he had heard it before.

Sand-Storm gurgled once, then fell over on his side. White-Serpent stepped further back as if the Son of the Suns was contaminated. Star-Thief bent over Sand-Storm and touched his neck for a pulse.

"He is dead," she revealed. "All his strength went into the prophecy. And we will do well to heed it."

Stone-Shadow nodded gravely. "It is clear, then, what Sky-Walker's path is to be."

"Is it?" wondered Wind-Dancer not a little sarcastically.

"'And in the time of greatest despair there shall come a savior, and he shall be known as the Sons of the Suns,'" quoted Stone-Shadow. "And yet I can hardly see an ordinary Son of the Suns taking on a night-demon and living to tell the tale. So your calling, Sky-Walker, is thus -- you are a Son of the Suns who is not confined by the laws of their order. Rather, you ARE the law. You answer only to your own will, and you act only as you see fit to accomplish your goal. The only restriction I lay upon you is that your every action be made for the greater good, and not for your own desires. Let your energy be directed toward eliminating the dark stain that reaches for our tribe." His gaze locked with Star-Thief's eyes. "Is that agreeable to the Daughters of the Moons?"

Star-Thief considered, seeming to weigh the pros and cons in her mind. "It is agreeable," she said at last.

"Is that agreeable to the Sons of the Suns?" asked Stone-Shadow, his eyes on White-Serpent now.

"It is not agreeable," snarled White-Serpent. "How am I supposed to keep order among the young Sons of the Suns when they see Sky-Walker bearing the mark of the Suns and yet acting as he pleases?"

"You will tell them that Sky-Walker is bound by prophecy and vision as surely as they are bound by the commandments of their priesthood. If that does not satisfy them, send them to me, and I shall handle things. Is that agreeable?"

White-Serpent looked as if he would rather bite off his own tongue and swallow it than concede to the chief's orders. But he finally ground out an answer: "It is agreeable."

Stone-Shadow nodded, then turned to Sky-Walker. "I apologize that your Adulthood Ceremony was so rudely interrupted. Enjoy what you can of the feast. Then rest for the night. You will need your sleep -- for you have a great responsibility upon your shoulders."

And with that, the chief strode away. The Serpent-Tribe warrior dismounted from his bantha and followed him, and the rest of the tribe dissolved into uneasy chatter as the feast commenced.

Sky-Walker realized his mouth was still hanging open, and he forced it closed. Son of the Suns, but not bound by their laws! This was far more than he had even dared hope for! And yet it frightened him... frightened him to the core that it would be HIM that was expected to face and defeat the Black One...

Obi-wan's hand rested on his shoulder. "Sky-Walker..."

"I can't do it, Obi-wan," he blurted. "The Black One frightens me. He can kill experienced warriors as if he were squashing rock-mites! How am I supposed to stand a chance? And that prophecy... what the stang does it all mean? The Black One's dark master, and the one who knows both worlds, and I know he wasn't meaning the Sons of the Suns of OUR tribe when he spoke of a savior."

Obi-wan pondered that for awhile. Then he turned to Wind-Dancer. "It is time your brother knew the whole story."

Wind-Dancer tensed. "What good will it do?"

"For one thing, it will explain much to him, including Sand-Storm's words..."

"What does he mean?" demanded Sky-Walker. "What's 'the whole story?'"

"It's the past," Wind-Dancer insisted. "What difference does it make?"

Sky-Walker stared at his sister, pain stabbing at his breast. "What are you hiding from me?"

She held his gaze for a long time. Then she lowered her head with a sigh. "Mother and Father will kill me for this."

"It is for your brother's good," Obi-wan told her gently.

She nodded slowly.

"Let's speak of this away from camp," Obi-wan advised. "And you come with us, Leia. This affects you as well."

_Break..._

"This is where you found me?"

The four of them knelt at the base of the canyon wall in what the outsiders liked to call Beggar's Canyon, staring at a battered, rusted outsider artifact Obi-wan called a capsule. Sky-Walker reverently ran his gloved hands over the surface and along the interior, imagining himself as a baby lying here, awaiting discovery. It all seemed so familiar, like a memory of a dream...

He was an outsider. For eighteen years he had worn Tusken wrappings, spoken the Tusken tongue, lived the Tusken ways... but it was outsider blood that beat in his veins. His mother and father, his sister, his ancestors and fellow tribesmen -- he could no longer call them true family. For his true family traced its roots back to the stars.

"Mother and Father decided to raise you as their own," Wind-Dancer said softly. For the first time in Sky-Walker's memory, she sounded as if she were struggling to hold back tears. "Their own son had been stillborn, and finding you motherless was like an answer from the spirits. They chose you as their son, and they raised you as their own."

He bowed his head over the capsule, feeling his eyes overflow with hot fluid. All this time, he had been living a lie. All this time he had been an outcast among his own people without even realizing it...

"Who else knew?" he demanded quietly.

"Two warriors, the healer, and a Daughter of the Moons," Wind-Dancer replied. "Both warriors died in battle a few years later, and old age took the healer not long after you came to camp. Only the Daughter of the Moons remains -- you know her as Star-Thief."

"Star-Thief? The Eldest Daughter?"

"She was not Eldest Daughter then... but she did have authority, and she charged me with being a guardian to you." She gave a deep sigh that ended with an unexpected sob. "I tried... I tried to do as best I could... but I knew I couldn't protect you from eventually finding out..."

Obi-wan clasped Sky-Walker's shoulder gently. "I know this is hard, Sky-Walker. Losing all you thought was truth is painful. But you cannot let it shatter you. You must be strong. You have a destiny to fulfill."

He sniffed loudly. "Is this why Father... never wanted me around outsiders... because he thought I'd... I'd realize I was one?"

Wind-Dancer nodded.

"Oh, Sky-Walker," murmured Leia, and she wrapped her arms around him. He couldn't keep his composure anymore -- he dissolved into tears and held her close, burying his face in her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, patting his back. "I wish I could do something to ease your pain."

Wind-Dancer exchanged a look with Obi-wan, one heavy with meaning. The Jedi nodded, then addressed the two of them.

"There is more, Leia and Sky-Walker. And this may be a very deep shock for both of you."

Leia released Sky-Walker, and they turned to face Obi-wan.

"Leia... you have admitted to feeling a bond with Sky-Walker. Sky-Walker, you have felt the same with Leia. I must tell you the bond is no product of your imagination. The two of you are... twins. Brother and sister. Bound by blood."

Sky-Walker felt his jaw drop again. A sister...

"Brother?" repeated Leia, staring at Sky-Walker with eyes as wide as the double-suns.

"I hid you, Leia, with the Organa family for your protection," he explained. "I had intended to hide Luke with your aunt and uncle on Tatooine, but..." He spread his hands helplessly. "The Force intervened."

Sky-Walker gulped back his emotion, trying to regain enough control to ask a question. "Our parents... are they alive?"

Obi-wan shook his head. "Your mother died giving birth to you. Your father... your father was murdered."

Sky-Walker inhaled deeply. There was one more thing he had to know, something that was bursting in his chest and struggling to break free.

"Do you know my real name, Obi-wan?"

He nodded. "Outsiders have two names -- the first is their given name, and the second their family name. The name your mother gave you is Luke."

"Luke," he repeated, feeling the name roll and click on his tongue. It was such a strange name... but it was his, and he supposed he needed to get used to it. "What about the family name?"

Here Obi-wan hesitated.

"You might as well be hanged for the bantha as well as the calf," Wind-Dancer told the old Jedi irritably. "Say it -- Skywalker. His father's name was Anakin Skywalker."

That was a horrible blow to the gut. Skywalker... Anakin Skywalker... Obi-wan's friend, who had met his doom at Darth Vader's hand...

That alone seemed to decide for him. He straightened and looked at Obi-wan and Wind-Dancer with a measure of calm.

"I have a destiny to fulfill," he said quietly. "I know that now. The Black One, Darth Vader, destroyed my father. And I am the only one who can stop him from doing more harm. Sand-Storm was right -- I AM one who walks two paths."

"And one who bears light," Obi-wan replied. "The Force is strong with you, Luke Skywalker. It burns as brightly in you as it did in your father. It burns in you, Leia, though not as strongly. You are truly the Chosen One, spoken of in not only Tusken prophecy, but Jedi prophecy. Only you can save the galaxy... but there is much you must learn first."

He stared down at his hands. "Can you teach me the Force, Obi-wan?"

A pause. Then, "I can instruct you, but only if you accompany Leia and myself off the planet. We must leave in the morning, or we will never be able to save Leia's people. If you want to learn the ways of the Force, you must come with us."

He drew a deep breath. "I'll go. I need every weapon possible to defeat the Black One. And I must learn of my heritage... my true heritage."

Leia clasped his shoulders. "Luke, the Tusken heritage is yours every bit as much as the outsider heritage. You need not turn your back on your old life simply because you've learned your blood is not Tusken. And surely Obi-wan won't expect you to start acting like an outsider immediately."

Obi-wan shook his head. "That would be unreasonable."

He nodded. "All right then. And please, call me Skywalker. I... I don't think I'll be used to the Luke bit for awhile."

Wind-Dancer embraced him. "I don't care what your blood is, Skywalker – you'll always be my little brother. Please, don't forget us."

"How can I?" he replied. "You're my family as much as Leia is. And please, don't forget me either."


	10. An Escape and a Capture

**Chapter 10 -- An Escape and a Capture**

Vader opened his eyes, startled at the tremors he now felt in the Force. They knew...

He rose from his meditation stance and strode out of his chamber. So Obi-wan had told them the truth... or at least part of it. His son and daughter now knew they were brother and sister. Whether they also knew their father's identity remained to be seen. But he had a suspicion that Obi-wan would withhold that little tidbit in the hopes that one or the other of them would destroy the Dark Lord.

Vader curled his lip beneath his mask as he left the farmhouse and strode into the Tatooine dawn. Fool. Even having lost so much and fallen so low, he was still the same devious creature. His deceptions would spell his doom someday. Vader would see to that.

Selecting a swoop bike from among the vehicles parked outside the farmhouse, he settled himself in the seat and punched the throttle, screaming away from the temporary base. He would not be needing his men this time. They would only attract attention and possibly frighten away both his children. This mission required him to face Obi-wan alone.

He fingered his lightsaber with one hand while he steered with the other. Their last encounter had ended badly on his part. But he had grown so much stronger since then, despite the horrendous injuries Obi-wan had inflicted upon him. He would not fail this time. He would emerge from this encounter the victor... and gain the prize denied him for eighteen years.

_I'm coming, my son, my daughter. Soon we will be reunited. And we will rule the galaxy together._

_Break..._

"He's coming!" shrieked White-Serpent, slamming his fist onto the hide-covered floor of the Serpent Tribe's Temple of the Suns. "My brothers have foreseen it, Shadow-Blade! He comes upon an outsider machine, faster than the wind! And we are not prepared for him!"

Shadow-Blade waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Why are you so worried, my friend? All you need is within your reach-+."

"What's that supposed to mean?" White-Serpent hissed. "Sky-Walker is beyond our reach now, thanks to our fool of a chief! Even now he leaves the tribe -- 'seeking knowledge on how to defeat the Black One,' he says. And we have no outsider woman to sacrifice for the night-demon! How can you expect us to..."

Shadow-Blade laughed easily. "You have been blind, White-Serpent. The answer is right before you and you cannot see it for your fear." He lifted his mouth-wrap and sipped from his wine-bowl. "The woman Sky-Walker rescued in the desert? The one without her memory? Why not use her?"

"Because then we will have the wrath of her tribe upon us, you idiot," White-Serpent retorted.

"No one is going to miss a mind-addled woman," Shadow-Blade assured him.

"It's impossible anyway," grumbled White-Serpent. "A member of her tribe came yesterday during Sky-Walker's Adulthood Ceremony and took her back. Both she and Sky-Walker are out of our reach now..."

"Then send some warriors after them and bring them back."

"And have the suspicion of our chief upon us?"

Shadow-Blade laughed again. "My friend, have you really fallen so low that you must lick the chief's boots? You are a Son of the Suns. The chief should be revering you, just as he reveres the Daughters of the Moons. He should consider it a privilege to grant you the warriors you need to carry out the will of the Suns. Our chief does."

"Only because he has one foot and half his mind in his grave already," White-Serpent grumbled. "Stone-Shadow is still young..."

"That makes no difference."

"He's not a fool."

"Everyone is a fool. Some fools are simply more obvious than others." Shadow-Blade set his wine-bowl aside. "As soon as you reach your encampment, tell the chief you have seen, in a vision, the Black One attacking Sky-Walker and Sky-Walker losing the battle. He will gladly give you the warriors you need to bring him back. I will donate our own warriors to the cause. Between our two tribes, we cannot fail to bring in Sky-Walker, the woman, and the Black One."

_Break..._

Two solemn processions marched out of the Redrock Tribe's encampment as the morning wore on, one clamoring with the sounds of mourning, the other silent. The first, the funeral party of Sand-Storm, bore the Son of the Suns' wrapped body toward the burial caverns near the canyon, accompanied by members of the Sons and Daughters who raised their voices to the suns and moons in mourning. The lamentations echoed eerily upon the wind, a forlorn howling that would make any outsider who heard it shudder with foreboding.

The other procession departed in a different direction, no less sorrowful but not expressing it through cries of mourning. Four banthas plodded in the direction of Mos Eisley, their riders and passengers not talking. Red-Dragon stared straight ahead, fists clenched around his mount's reins. Moon-Blossom kept stretching her hand out to Skywalker, as if longing to touch him one last time. Wind-Dancer kept her gaze fixed on her Slowfoot's shoulders, while Obi-wan, seated just behind her, tried to murmur words of sympathy but got only cold silence in response. Skywalker fidgeted nervously with Cyclone's reins, turning occasionally to ask yet again if Leia was all right.

"I'm fine," she murmured. "But I know you're not. Skywalker, I'm sorry..."

He shook his head. "I have to do this, Leia."

"That doesn't make it easier. I know."

At last the city came into view, a dark stain upon the sands. As always, Skywalker was astonished by the sheer size of the human settlement. It seemed to him that every Tusken tribe in the Jundland Wastes could fit here with room to spare! It gleamed beneath the double-suns like a gemstone uncovered by the winds, tempting one to look closer into its faceted depths. And it fairly hummed with activity -- outsiders on beast-back and machine-back could be seen darting between the buildings, and ships of all kinds swooped and screamed overhead like massive birds of prey.

"Mos Eisley spaceport," Obi-wan murmured. "Never will you find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy."

Red-Dragon at last deigned to look at Obi-wan. "And you will take my son in that hive? You know outsiders hate us."

"He will be protected," Obi-wan assured him. "I will let no harm come to him."

Red-Dragon sighed deeply. "I always feared this day would come."

"Father, I'll be fine," Skywalker assured him. "I have Obi-wan to protect me."

Everyone dismounted, and Obi-wan and Leia stepped back respectfully as the Tuskens said their goodbyes to Skywalker.

"My son," murmured Red-Dragon, embracing him. "When your mother first found you, I was skeptical. I feared you would bring evil upon the tribe, that you would prove to be only a poor substitute for a son. I was wrong. You have been my son all your life -- if not in blood, then in spirit. You have honored our family greatly." He released him and clapped his shoulder. "I have no advice to give you, except to not forget what you have learned from your people."

"My people? But Father..."

"You are Tusken," Red-Dragon said fiercely. "Nothing, not even your blood, can change that, my son."

Moon-Blossom embraced her son tearfully. "Oh Lizard..."

"Skywalker, Mother," he replied, choking back tears of his own as he returned her embrace. "I will return. I don't know when, but I will come back. I swear it."

"I love you, my son," she murmured. "Be safe. And protect your blood-sister. She goes into danger as well."

Wind-Dancer stepped forward, and for the longest time she and Skywalker stared at each other, neither knowing what to say.

"Star-Thief always sensed something special about you," she said at last. "And I sensed it as well when I became a Daughter of the Moons. You are destined for greatness, Skywalker -- but with great power comes great responsibility... and the possibility of great pain." She gazed at the horizon. "I sense that you will be greatly changed when you return to us next."

"But I'll still be your brother," Skywalker insisted.

She nodded. "Nothing can change that." She reached up and unclasped a silver chain from about her neck, then reached forward and fastened it about Skywalker's neck. "A talisman. I won't pretend it has any special powers to protect you, but at least it will give you something to remember us by."

Skywalker fingered the chain and its crescent-moon pendant. "I don't need it to remember you by... but I will keep it with me. To honor you."

Wind-Dancer embraced him. "May the moons watch over you, brother."

"May the suns watch over you, sister."

Red-Dragon, Moon-Blossom, and Wind-Dancer mounted their banthas, and after a final long gaze upon Skywalker they turned around and rode back to the encampment.

"They are truly your family," Obi-wan noted.

"Of course they are," Skywalker replied. "They raised me. They're the only family I know." He turned to Leia. "Besides you, of course."

Obi-wan gave Skywalker a critical look, frowning. "When we go into Mos Eisley, you cannot be seen in your Tusken wrappings. It will draw undue attention. The best option would be to remove your face covering."

Skywalker jerked in surprise. Remove it? Expose his face to the suns? Disgusting!

"Does he have to?" asked Leia, sensing Skywalker's distaste toward the idea. "We could just cover his face. Plenty of people were scarves or veils on Tatooine."

Obi-wan nodded slowly. "It would be for the best if he grew accustomed to revealing his face, but I won't force the issue for now."

Leia pulled up the hood of Skywalker's robe, then helped him tear off the hem of his robe and wrap it around his head until only a slit remained to allow him to see. It was awkward, but at least it disguised his identity as a Tusken for now. Once Obi-wan was satisfied that no one would recognize him, everyone mounted Cyclone again and rode into town.

"Civilization at last," murmured Threepio from where he had been strapped to Cyclone's side like a saddlebag. "Or at least something approximating it..."

"Civ-el-what?" asked Skywalker. He'd never heard that Basic word before.

"Civilization is the term given to an advanced people," Obi-wan replied. "Usually to a people who have advanced far enough to have a written language."

"Written language? What does that mean?"

"It means that they have a system of symbols they use to record messages, history, and stories."

"The Tuskens do that too. Our heroes and the stories of the acts of the suns and moons can be found on the cliffs..."

"Not pictures, Skywalker, but an actual writing system known as an alphabet." He pointed to a sign hanging over a building's doorway. "For example, the symbols upon that sign read 'Parts and Scrap.' That indicates that he sells ship parts and scrap metal in his shop."

He stared at the jumble of lines and shapes. "No it doesn't. It's just a scramble."

"Not to us," Leia replied. "It's one way we communicate."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just have a picture of ship parts and scrap metal to show what he sells?"

"Not everything can be communicated in pictures," Obi-wan replied. "How would you picture love, for instance? Or fear? Or the Force?"

He had to think about that. "It would be hard. You could draw a krayt dragon to show fear, but then people wouldn't know if you were trying to show a krayt dragon or fear of one."

"Exactly." Obi-wan sighed. "It seems I shall also need to teach you how to read."

Skywalker shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. "Obi-wan, I don't mean to be a problem."

"I know you don't, young one," the Jedi replied softly. "You cannot help how you were brought up. All this means is that you have something else to learn in addition to the Force."

Leia rested a hand on his arm. "I'll help you, Skywalker."

He smiled. "Thanks, Leia..."

White-armored outsiders approached the bantha, and Skywalker felt himself tense. Wherever white-armored warriors appeared, bloodshed usually followed. He prepared to draw his gaderffi out of Obi-wan's packs...

"Leave your weapon where it is," Obi-wan ordered. "It will only attract undue attention."

Leia stiffened behind Skywalker. He realized that these men might very well serve the Black One, and they might be searching for her. Though she wore worn robes similar to Obi-wan's and Skywalker's and her face was wrapped in a scarf, there was a chance someone might recognize her...

"How long have you had these droids?" demanded one of the warriors.

Before Skywalker could ask what a "droid" was, Leia responded, deepening her voice and affecting a strange accent. "About four or five seasons."

"They're for sale, if you want them," Obi-wan added with a grin.

The leader of the warriors, his face concealed behind a frowning white mask, glowered up at Skywalker. "Let me see your identification."

"What?" asked Skywalker, puzzled. He had no idea what "identification" was supposed to mean...

"You don't need to see his identification." Obi-wan's voice had taken on an odd quality -- gentle and soothing, yet infused with power. The same persuasive tone he'd heard Daughters of the Moons use on occasion when they were trying to acquire volunteers for their ceremonies...

"We don't need to see his identification," the leader said in a monotone.

"These aren't the droids you're looking for."

"These aren't the droids we're looking for."

"We can go about our business."

"You can go about your business."

"Move along."

"Move along," the warrior ordered, waving his hand. Skywalker didn't need to be told twice but kneed Cyclone forward.

"That was close," Leia whispered. "I didn't expect stormtroopers to be here..."

"Those were stormtroopers?" asked Skywalker.

"They serve the Empire," Obi-wan told him. "And many also answer to Darth Vader."

Skywalker nodded. The Black One had eyes and ears everywhere. He would have to be cautious.

"Was that the Force you used?" he asked.

Obi-wan nodded. "The Force can have a strong influence on the weak-minded, Skywalker." He pointed to a narrow alley. "Right there."

He directed Cyclone to the very mouth of the alley, then stopped short. The bantha would never fit through there!

"I'm afraid this is as far as Cyclone can accompany you, Luke," Obi-wan told him quietly. "He must remain on Tatooine."

Carefully Skywalker dismounted, then walked around to Cyclone's head as Obi-wan and Leia slid down and untied Threepio and Artoo, stroking the great muzzle fondly. The bantha had been part of his life since he was ten summers old, first tagging along at his heels as a calf, then bucking and nipping at his harness mischievously as Skywalker struggled to teach him the proper commands, and finally serving as a partner in his escapades. A Tusken's bantha was as close to him as a mate, and Skywalker had seen many Tuskens drive themselves into deep depression over the deaths of their steeds. Leaving Cyclone behind would be just as painful as leaving his family... if not more so, for in abandoning his bantha he was effectively turning his back on his Tusken heritage forever.

"Obi-wan, do you know someone who'll take care of the bantha?" asked Leia. "We can at least make sure Cyclone's left with someone who won't abuse him."

Obi-wan nodded. "The Jawas will take good care of him."

"Jawas?" Skywalker repeated distastefully. "Those sniveling little thieves won't get their paws on Cyclone..."

"They may be light-fingered and easily frightened," Obi-wan replied evenly, "but they are kind to the animals in their care. Cyclone will be in good hands."

"But Jawas?" Skywalker protested. All his life he'd been told the Jawas were not only untrustworthy, but they were so loathsome not even the outsiders held them in good regard. They weren't even worth attacking for scrap metal, though some tribes thought it great fun to bully the little pests just to watch them scream and run. No self-respecting Tusken transacted business with the Jawas, not unless he wanted to be the laughingstock of the tribe. If you were desperate enough in your dealings to consort with those smelly, cowardly kleptomaniacs, you were better off throwing yourself to a sarlaac.

"Skywalker, your people were wrong about all outsiders being barbarians," Leia told him. "Perhaps they're wrong about all Jawas being thieves?"

Much as he didn't want to, he had to concede that point.

An outsider man emerged from the alley, giving the bantha a curious look before turning his attention to the their party. Unlike Obi-wan, who wore robes, this man wore snug black trousers, a white shirt with black vest, and black boots. His face was beardless, and his brown hair looked as if the wind had helped arrange it. Skywalker liked the man's face -- he had a smile that suggested adventure and wit. Funny, he'd only been around outsiders a couple of weeks and already he was picking up on their facial cues...

"All right, right on time," he noted. "And I see you got your extra passenger. All right, we're a little rushed, so everyone hurry and board..."

"You two go on ahead," ordered Obi-wan. "I'll take Cyclone to the Jawas."

Reluctantly Skywalker gave Cyclone a farewell pat and followed the man into the alley. Leia was close behind, Threepio and Artoo trailing her as quickly as they could.

"Who are you?" asked Skywalker.

"Han Solo, captain of the Millennium Falcon," he replied. "You?"

Most of those words made no sense to Skywalker, but he didn't worry about puzzling them out yet. "Skywalker."

"Okay, odd name, but I'll play along. Got a last name to go with that, kid?"

"Skywalker is my family name," he explained, careful to stick to Basic. "My true name is Luke, but I prefer to go by Skywalker."

Han shrugged. "Suit yourself. What about the lady?"

"Senator Leia Organa," Leia replied sternly. "And you'd do well to remember that."

Han arched an eyebrow. "Wow, a spitfire. I always get the ones with attitudes."

Skywalker halted in his tracks with a startled yelp as they reached the end of the alley -- and a towering furred beast with a fearsome set of teeth and piercing eyes. What the sands was this creature? He knew that bizarre monsters could be found on other worlds, but he'd never heard of something like this!

"Relax, this is Chewbacca," Han told him. "You can call him Chewie."

"Chewie?" repeated Skywalker.

The thing they called Chewie growled and roared. Skywalker wished he had his gaderffi with him.

"No, we can't leave yet," Han snapped. "The old man isn't here yet. Don't know what he went off to do..."

"It speaks?" gaped Skywalker. "You can understand it?"

Han smirked. "Kid's never seen a Wookie before?"

"Skywalker was raised by Tuskens," Leia told him. "He has little concept of the world beyond Tatooine. Be easy on him."

Han's eyebrow slid upward again. "Raised by Tusken Raiders? And I thought I'd seen it all."

An ominous crack filled the alley, and Skywalker turned to see Obi-wan running as fast as his aged legs could carry him down the alley. Behind him came a flash of white metal -- stormtroopers!

"You guys seem pretty popular with the local Imps," Han noted. "C'mon, to the Falcon!"

Chewie bellowed and swung his arm forward to indicate the outsider ship that sat before them. Skywalker gaped in awe. The thing was HUGE. Flat like a platter with a forked nose and thick metal armor, it seemed to have seen its share of action but was no less impressive for it. Matter of fact, Skywalker thought the many scratches and dents gave the ship a sort of character, almost as if the machine could speak to him about its adventures and exploits, about the many wonders it had seen...

"You came to Tatooine in that thing?" asked Leia. "You're braver than I thought."

"Ha ha, Senator," grumbled Han. "She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts."

"How do you tell if it's female?" asked Skywalker, cocking his head.

"I didn't mean literally," Han muttered. "Now on the ship or you're going to be stormtrooper target practice!"

A blast of crimson fire struck the ground on his right, goading him into a run. He grabbed Leia's arm and dashed toward the ship. Chewie bounded up a ramp that led to the ship's interior, and he roared and gestured inside. They ducked in as the Wookie exchanged fire with the stormtroopers that poured out of the alley. Obi-wan stumbled in next, breathing very heavily, followed by a whimpering Threepio and a surprisingly unworried Artoo. Han bolted past them and deeper into the ship's interior, shouting the whole way.

"What'd he say?" asked Skywalker.

"To get to the passenger area and buckle up," Leia replied, and now she was pulling him along as she ran. Flinging him into a chair, she grabbed a couple of straps and fastened them across his waist before he could protest. Then she set about buckling herself in. Obi-wan flung himself into the seat across from Skywalker and strapped himself in as well.

"Oh dear, I've forgotten how much I hate space travel..." whimpered Threepio.

There was a massive lurch, and the ground heaved beneath his feet. He gripped the chair beneath him and squeezed his eyes shut as his world rocked all around him, rocking his stomach severely along with it. It was worse than riding a bucking bantha -- at least you could jump off the bantha when things got too rough for you. There was no jumping from the ship...

More shudderings, a terrific jolt as if the ship had just crouched and sprang...

Then dead silence.

A gentle hand touched his arm. "It's over, Skywalker. It's okay. You can let go now."

He shivered. "Are we dead?" he managed to get past his tight throat.

"No, we're in hyperspace."

"Is that like death?"

"No. It's how we travel from planet to planet. We're perfectly safe."

He forced his fingers to loosen from their death grip on his seat. Sweat poured down his skin -- not heat-sweat, but acrid fear-sweat that chilled him badly. His stomach still thrashed uncontrollably, despite all his attempts to convince it the ship was no longer moving beneath their feet...

Han strode into the room with a wide grin. "Well, I got us safely past the local Imperials. Two Stardestroyers... you guys must be a lot hotter than I first thought. We'll make Alderaan at about 1300." He arched an eyebrow at Skywalker. "How'd you enjoy your first trip into hyperspace, kid?"

His stomach made a profound argument right then and there.

_Break..._

Vader snarled as he strode away from Obi-wan's domicile, now blazing in ruins, and sat astride the speeder bike once more. The treacherous Jedi was nowhere in sight! Where had he taken his children? What was the man plotting now? And did he really think he could get away with this?

He extended his senses as he gunned the engine and streaked away. Clusters of Force-strong presences littered the Jundland Wastes, shining like miniature galaxies in his mind's eye. Could Obi-wan be hiding among those? But no, he could not sense the Jedi Master's presence among them. And none of the beings were nearly as strong as his children...

The realization would have driven the breath from his lungs had he still possessed control of them. Obi-wan had left the planet. And he had taken his son and daughter with him. While Vader had been preoccupied with seeking the three of them out in the Wastes, they had been making their escape! His sole consolation was that there was little chance of them making it past the Stardestroyers stationed in this system... but he would leave nothing to chance. He HAD to prevent their escape somehow...

Three banthas came into view just ahead -- two brown-furred, the third silvery-gray with age. The riders turned curiously at the sound of his speeder's engine, but upon seeing him they screamed in fear and kicked their mounts into gallops.

_Tusken Raiders..._

He bore his teeth beneath his mask in a feral, humorless smile. Slamming the throttle open all the way, he charged forward. His rage at Obi-wan for his treachery screamed for release, and these creatures would provide it!

The Force stabbed through his bloodlust in a dire warning, and he flung himself from the bike just as a blast from a projectile rifle shredded the fuel lines and tore the vehicle apart in a fiery explosion. Such a fall would have killed a lesser man instantly, but he released control, allowing the Force to overtake him and slow his descent enough to avoid damage. The impact was jarring, but he rolled to his feet without injury, igniting his lightsaber and bracing himself for a confrontation. If the Tuskens wanted battle, he'd give it to them...

They surrounded him, seeming to spring from nowhere, some wearing glittering chains of snake's teeth and black cloaks, others draped in dragon's teeth. He estimated there to be at least thirty, maybe more, not counting the three on bantha-back that had slowed to a halt and now watched the unfolding battle with great anticipation. Had this been a trap?

No time to think. Only to turn his fate over to the dark side.

His saber bit into metal and flesh as two warriors struck him, only to fall to the sands in pieces. A hand was sheared off on his right, a gaderffi split in two on his left. He twisted his weapon about to block the fire of a clumsily fired blaster, then whirled it back around to pierce a Tusken's chest. The sands were soon littered with bodies and pieces of weapons, hampering his footwork. But despite their losses, the creatures continued to charge, continued to attack, continued to swarm him like gundarks savaging their prey...

Pain blasted through his body as a gaderffi blade slammed down on his shoulder. He released a primal scream of combined rage and agony as he reached out with the Force and squeezed the attacker's throat, longing to wring the life slowly from him...

But another blade smashed into his leg, shattering vital components, while he was distracted with killing the first Tusken. Still another struck his head, and while his helmet deflected the worst of it, the blow was still enough to send him reeling and staggering.

And in that moment of weakness, they were upon him. Hands grabbed his limbs and neck, triumphant howls and screams ripped the air...

Another blow to the helmet, and he blacked out.


	11. Paths of Light and Darkness

**Chapter 11 -- Paths of Light and Darkness**

Skywalker had been inside the Falcon's refresher unit for ten minutes, and he still hadn't worked up the nerve to remove his face-wrap.

The one they called Han had dragged him into this room and showed him how to work the bathing unit in order to clean up after his little bout of motion sickness. He had explained how the various mechanisms worked and even offered to bring in a fresh change of clothes for him.

"Incidentally, how long did you live with the Tuskens?" he'd asked.

"All my life," Skywalker had replied. "Eighteen summers."

"Eighteen years," Han had noted, nodding. "Sure smells like it, too – I take it Tuskens don't bathe. Take your time in here, kid, you need it."

After playing around with the water system for a few minutes – so much water! – he had finally found himself standing before a sheet of meticulously polished metal – a mirror, he realized. And since then he had examined his reflection and tried to work up the courage to pull off his mask and have a look at his outsider face. Revealing one's face to someone other than their mate was a forbidden act among the Tuskens...

But he was no longer among Tuskens. He had to remember that. And if he was truly outsider, perhaps it was time he started acting like one.

He took a deep breath, then reached up and began unwinding the wrappings. The warrior-spines, the eyepieces, and the moisture trap just over the mouth-wrap fell off in his hands as he continued to peel back layers of cloth. When he reached the final layer over his face, he braced himself and swiftly tore it off, like a child quickly ripping off a bandage in hopes of keeping pain to a minimum.

The face staring back at him from that mirror was indeed outsider, but so pale – paler than Leia and Han, and MUCH paler than Obi-wan. It seemed a well-shaped face, especially the chin area, but as he wasn't all that familiar with outsider faces he wasn't sure whether it could qualify as good-looking or not. His eyes were a strange color – intensely blue, bluer than even the noon skies of Tatooine. And his hair, long and lank and plastered flat against his head, was the color of a sand dune. All in all, he wasn't sure whether to be pleased or disappointed – or perhaps just be glad he wasn't truly horrendous in appearance.

He turned back to the bathing unit and activated it. Streams of water poured down from a spout set high in the wall, and he spent a few minutes adjusting the controls, increasing and decreasing the flow and changing the angle of the spray, altering the temperature from bone-numbing cold to scalding hot. To have water on command, water whenever you wanted, and to not have to worry about running out...

_This would be paradise for the tribe!_

He hesitantly stripped off the rest of his wrappings, then stepped into the unit. The water felt wonderful against his skin. He simply stood there for a long time, reveling in the sensation of the warm spray.

When he had finally scrubbed himself clean, he stepped out of the unit and found the drying cloths, as well as the clothing Han had left him. He was pleased to find that the tunic, pants, and boots would cover most of his body. His hands and face would remain exposed, however. Well, no helping that. But maybe if he requested a pair of gloves...

He looked up in the mirror... and almost burst out laughing at how strange his face looked when he grimaced. On a whim he bared his teeth, then pursed his lips, then stuck his tongue out just to see how far it would go. He had marveled before at how outsiders could manipulate their faces so well...

The door hissed open, and Han stepped in. "Glad to see you're enjoying yourself in here, kid."

Skywalker made another interesting discovery – outsider faces changed color when they were embarrassed.

"I was about to ask if you'd drowned in here," Han smirked. "You've been in here awhile."

"Drowned?"

"That's when someone gets water in their lungs, kid. They can't breathe – they drown."

He blinked, surprised. "Among my people, water is a gift from the Earth-Mother. It gives life. I never knew it could kill as well."

"You have a lot to learn about the galaxy, kid." He bent down and collected Skywalker's old robes and wrappings. "I'll toss these for you, no sense keeping them..."

"Wait." Skywalker bent down and carefully picked his warrior-spines out of the pile. "I want to keep these."

Han shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"Thanks." He glanced down at the spines cupped in his hand... and noticed something strange. "Um... my hands..."

"Got wrinkled from the water in the bathing unit. Don't worry, kid, that's normal."

He entered the larger chamber where Obi-wan was waiting for him. Leia was seated on a bench and doing something with an unfamiliar outsider artifact. Threepio and Chewie were seated at a table nearby, watching an odd collection of tiny creatures caper across the surface. When one of the beasts picked up another and threw him to the tabletop, the Wookie let out a bellow.

"He made a fair move," Threepio chided the creature, gesturing toward Artoo, who stood next to the table. "Screaming about it won't help you."

"Let him have it," advised Han. "It's not wise to upset a Wookie."

"But sir, nobody worries about upsetting a droid," protested Threepio.

"That's 'cause droids don't pull people's arms out of their sockets when they lose," Han replied with a smirk. "Wookies have been known to do that."

Skywalker made a mental note to never get on Chewie's bad side.

"Ah, Skywalker, you've returned," Obi-wan said with a smile. "I have something for you, if you'll wait a moment." He turned and began digging through his bag.

"Skywalker?" Leia said wonderingly, setting the artifact aside and rising from her seat. "You took off the mask..."

He felt his face heat up, and he wondered if it was changing color again. "Um... how do I look?"

She laughed. "You're very handsome."

His cheeks blazed hotter. Even coming from his sister, that was a touching compliment.

"Here we are," Obi-wan said at last, straightening and approaching Skywalker, a silver tube in his hands. He placed it in Skywalker's hands and closed his fingers around it, adjusting the position of his hands until the grip was correct. Skywalker hefted it experimentally – it was heavier than it looked, but he didn't see what was so special about it.

"This is rightfully yours, my boy," Obi-wan told him, and he touched a button on the tube, causing a shaft of bright blue light to burst forth, humming eerily. "Your father's lightsaber – a more elegant weapon for a more civilized age."

Skywalker stared at the thrumming bar of light, entranced like an insect by a candle. "Wind-Dancer said Vader used a lightsaber... and that it was a burning weapon."

"She was correct. The blade is made of energy, not matter. It can and will burn anything it comes in contact with, including flesh and bone, so you must be very careful with it."

He gently swept the weapon back and forth, getting used to the feel. Unlike a Tusken gaderffi, the only weight in the lightsaber was in the handle. The blade was as weightless as sunlight, and instinct told him he could easily injure himself as well as a foe if he didn't use caution. But Obi-wan was correct – it was an elegant weapon, one he wouldn't mind using in battle sometime.

"I thought I'd start you on a training exercise," Obi-wan told him, and he drew something else out of his bag – a metal ball the size of two fists put together, pitted with odd indentations. He touched a control on the side of the sphere, and it rose from his hand and swooped away to hang just in front of Skywalker, buzzing slightly.

"What's that?"

"A training remote. Your task is to use your lightsaber to block its attacks. Its shots won't do damage, but they will sting, so it would do you well to block as many as possible."

He nodded and raised the weapon. The remote darted to the left, and Skywalker shifted to cover that side of his body. But a blast of crimson fire streaked out of the machine and struck him in the leg, sending fire up the limb. He yelped and jumped back.

Han laughed. "Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster by your side, kid."

Leia glared at him. "He's just starting out. Give him some time."

"Excuse me, your Highness, you don't have to jump down my throat," Han grumbled. "Sorry about insulting your boyfriend..."

"He's my brother, thank you very much," she replied crisply.

The expression on Han's face so resembled that of a cornered eopie that Skywalker just had to laugh... and he paid the price by taking a shot to the seat of his pants.

"Concentrate," Obi-wan encouraged him. "Block out distractions. Focus on the task at hand. Feel the Force flowing through you, let it guide you..."

He turned his attention back to the remote. It shifted left again, then right. He kept the lightsaber high, ready to block...

The weapon seemed to swing low of its own accord, and a ruby shaft of light glanced off the sapphire blade. Elation flooded him, and with renewed confidence he raised the blade again to block another blast, then another. He was getting the hang of this. And better yet, it was actually becoming fun!

"Enough," Obi-wan said after awhile. "Well done. You have taken your first step into a larger world."

He found the button on the side and pushed it, and the blade retracted with a sucking hiss. "This lightsaber... it's incredible."

"It is meant for defense, Skywalker," Obi-wan warned him. "It is not a toy. It is a weapon, like your gaderffi. Only draw it if you are in dire peril."

Skywalker stared down at the weapon, then at his hands. "Obi-wan... can I wear some gloves? I don't like having my hands exposed."

Obi-wan nodded. "I shall find you some as soon as possible."

"Got some, hold on." Han stood and moved out of the room.

"We will continue with more lessons in the Force later," Obi-wan told him. "For now, Leia will begin another phase of your training."

Leia patted the bench next to her, and Skywalker sat down. In her lap she held a large flat object with many rows of buttons and a slightly glowing square filled with symbols.

"This is a datapad," she explained. "We use it to read and record messages and information. I'm going to use it to teach you how to read." She tapped a few buttons, and a few rows of symbols appeared on the screen. "These are the symbols you'll need to know. They're known as the alphabet."

He leaned over the screen, concentrating on the symbols, memorizing them. He was bound and determined to learn all that Obi-wan, Leia, and even Han could teach him. Every scrap of knowledge he could gather in his quest to defeat the Black One was vital... and every tidbit of information about outsider life would help him better understand his human heritage.

He sighed and began repeating the corresponding sounds for each symbol as Leia offered them to him. He had his work cut out for him, it seemed.

_Break..._

"Kill him."

Wind-Dancer, Star-Thief, and White-Serpent stared at the chief, who had his arms folded across his chest as an indicator that he was not going to give in on this point. Stone-Shadow had been irate when he had discovered that White-Serpent's claim that Sky-Walker was in peril was merely a ruse to capture the night-demon, and his rage had only deepened when he had learned that eight warriors of the Redrock Tribe and fourteen of the Serpent Tribe had been killed, as well as dozens more wounded, before they could subdue the creature.

"He is dangerous," Stone-Shadow said firmly. "So long as he is in this camp, we are all in mortal danger. Kill him now and save our tribe from further bloodshed."

"And have the sacrifice of our noble warriors be in vain?" demanded White-Serpent. "Chief, if we can harness the night-demon's power..."

"Are you mad, White-Serpent?" demanded Stone-Shadow. "You can no more make a night-demon your servant than you can tame a wild krayt dragon! Sooner or later the dragon will turn on its conqueror and break free... and attempting to chain this night-demon will only bring death to his captor and quite probably the rest of the tribe."

"The suns are far more powerful than the darkness of night," protested White-Serpent. "We can and will control him. He will be as manageable as a massif cub when we're through with him..."

Star-Thief barked a humorless laugh. "You're not dealing with a massif cub here, or even a krayt dragon as the chief says. You're dealing with a being that not only has great strength and power, but an intelligent, cunning mind. He will break free eventually, and do you honestly think he will have mercy on those who captured and humiliated him?"

"Well said, Star-Thief," Stone-Shadow told her with a nod. "Let go of your grandiose plans, White-Serpent. If you so wish to be a hero of the tribe, then act with the tribe's interests in mind and destroy the Black One."

"But... his power..." The protest was little more than a whimper.

"If you refuse to obey, Eldest Son, then begone," the chief hissed in contempt. "I had hoped you were acting for the benefit of the tribe, but I see now that you are a coward that seeks only to elevate his own status. Get out of my sight."

White-Serpent grumbled a curse and slunk away.

"Star-Thief, Wind-Dancer, I trust you can act and succeed where White-Serpent refused to do so?" inquired Stone-Shadow, his voice calmer.

"I wish we could," Wind-Dancer replied, bowing slightly. "I beg your forgiveness, chief, but I must agree with White-Serpent in saying it would be unwise to kill him."

"The Daughters of the Moons would seek to subdue this creature for his powers as well?" asked Stone-Shadow, a hard edge to his voice.

"Not in the slightest," Star-Thief replied, placing a reassuring hand on Stone-Shadow's arm. "Let me show you."

They led the chief toward the Temple of the Moons and through the tent flap. The interior of the Daughters' abode was a feast for the eyes – dyed beast hides covering the floor, elaborately woven blankets hanging from the walls, ornaments made from outsider chains and scrap metal dangling from the ceiling and chiming musically whenever someone brushed past them, and careful stacks and piles of ceremonial items such as bone staffs, headdresses, bundles of herbs and dried or drying plants, flapper traps, ornate bowls and urns, and other objects. The sweet smell of a burning bundle of moon-weed scented the air, and a fire burned in a thick clay bowl in the center of the tent, surrounded by the sleeping pallets of the Daughters of the Moons. Stone-Shadow paused a moment at the entrance to the tent to drink in his surroundings before entering.

In the farthest corner of the tent, the tribe's healer, Sun-Chaser, bent over the unconscious form of the Black One, tightening a bandage around his shoulder. The chief and two holy women approached cautiously, as if sneaking into the lair of a dozing krayt. Even unconscious, this man exuded an aura of fear and awe, terrifying and yet strangely magnetic. The firelight gleamed on his black armor, giving it a golden cast, and the rasp of his breath was so like the warning hiss of a krayt that even the normally unflappable chief tensed visibly.

"You've calmed down, I see," Star-Thief noted, nodding at the healer.

Sun-Chaser patted the Black One's wounded shoulder. "It was when they brought him in here and I saw his wounds that I realized he was no night-demon. He bleeds. Night-demons do not bleed."

"So White-Serpent was wrong," Stone-Shadow sighed, relieved.

"He is not a night-demon, but he is still dangerous," Wind-Dancer countered. "I have had contact with the outsiders, and I know that this man is a high-ranking outsider with a command of a power they call the Force. If we destroy him, we will bring the wrath of the outsiders upon our tribe. They already attack us at every opportunity, but if we were to kill this one... they would hunt us to extinction."

"So what do you suggest we do with him?" demanded Stone-Shadow. "Release him that he may turn on us? Dress him in robes and make him one of us? Give him to the Hutts?" He shook his head. "It was prophesied that he would bring a dark shadow upon the tribe, and that Sky-Walker would be required to save the tribe from his wrath..."

"And would you deny Sky-Walker his birthright by fulfilling the prophecy for him?" asked Wind-Dancer.

Stone-Shadow waved a dismissive hand. "I prefer not to take chances. Destroy him soon, before he awakens... and before the Sons of the Suns get more delusions of grandeur."

A young Tusken sentry poked his head into the tent. "Chief, Black-Massif is here. He wants to know what happened to his warriors."

Stone-Shadow sighed. "Take care of this. I am confident that the Daughters of the Moons can do what is best for the tribe."

"We shall," Star-Thief assured him, bowing.

The chief strode out of the tent.

"Well, his shoulder should be fine," Sun-Chaser said at last. "His leg is another story."

"He is lame?" asked Star-Thief.

"For the moment. As far as I can tell, his leg is an outsider artifact of some sort – he must have lost it and had it replaced. Very clever, I must confess. Who would have thought that outsider machines could replace lost limbs?" She shook her head. "I couldn't figure out how to fix it, so I just bound it up to keep all the parts in place."

"Thank you for your cooperation, Sun-Chaser," Star-Thief told her.

The healer picked up her medicine bag and stood. "Is there a reason we're healing his wounds if we're just going to kill him?"

"We are acting in the tribe's best interests," Star-Thief replied. "I trust you will speak of this to no one?"

"You have my vow," she promised, nodding.

"Thank you. You may go."

Once the healer had gone, Star-Thief turned to Wind-Dancer. "Sky-Walker's father, you say?"

"Yes," Wind-Dancer sighed. "Obi-wan told me long ago."

Star-Thief plucked at her veil thoughtfully. "Fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, sisters, brothers. It all comes down to family in the end." Her gaze moved to the sleeping Black One. "If he is as evil as you repute, why do you insist he live?"

"Because, as you say, killing him will only bring the wrath of the outsiders' Empire upon us."

Star-Thief cocked her head to one side slyly. "I suspect your brother has something to do with it as well?"

Wind-Dancer snorted. "He doesn't know, and in my opinion he should never know. Who deserves to know that their father is... this?"

"No one is born evil," Star-Thief told her gently. "Even the night-demons were once spirits of light. The Black One must have once been a good man... just as your brother is a good man."

Wind-Dancer didn't reply.

"You are the only Daughter of the Moons with knowledge of the outsider language," Star-Thief said. "I want you to speak to this man when he awakens. Explain to him that we intend to let him go as soon as his wound is healed enough to allow travel. And if I were you, I would also explain that he has a son. Your brother deserves to know he has a father, you know."

"I am still his guardian," Wind-Dancer said firmly. "I am still promised to protect him. Even if I must protect him from his father..."

"You will only be harming him by allowing him to continue believing the Black One killed his father," Star-Thief countered. "And even greater harm will be done if Sky-Walker commits the mortal sin of killing his own flesh and blood."

Wind-Dancer whirled to face Star-Thief. "But the prophecy... he must defeat his father somehow..."

"Prophecies can be misinterpreted," Star-Thief said sagely, "as you have just proven. The prophecy only spoke of the Black One searching for what he cannot have. And Sky-Walker was not to defeat him in battle, but to cast back the dark shadow that threatens our tribe. Whether that comes from the Black One himself or from another source, only time will tell."

Wind-Dancer sighed. "I will speak to the Black One. But I don't like it."

Star-Thief clasped the younger Daughter's shoulder comfortingly. "I know this is hard for you, young one. But I have faith in you. I always have. Otherwise I would never have made you a guardian all those years ago in the canyon." She gazed at the Black One a final time. "Moons watch over you, dear."

"Moons watch over you," Wind-Dancer told her. "And us all."

_Break..._

Vader awoke to the murmur of voices... Tusken voices. His head throbbed painfully and his shoulder burned, but despite all this he was alert in an instant. Captured by Tuskens... just as his mother had been taken by the monsters so many years ago...

Experimentally he shifted his arms. They seemed to be unbound. His right leg, likewise, was unfettered. He couldn't move the left leg below the knee, but that was to be expected – they had done considerable damage to that limb before knocking him out. Slowly he moved his hand to his waist and felt the clip on his belt where his lightsaber normally hung. He wasn't surprised to find the weapon missing; he only hoped the creatures hadn't destroyed it but rather kept it as a trophy, that he might be able to retrieve it.

He opened his eyes, fully expecting to see a party of Tuskens staring down at him, eagerly waiting to begin some kind of torture or perverse combat game. Instead, he saw the veiled faces of two Tusken women, both wearing silver-embroidered robes, one holding a bone staff but neither equipped with a weapon of any sort. One wore a chain of animal teeth and a cloak of dewback skin, and the staff she held was carved intricately with images of cresent moons and stars. The other was draped in metal chains and strings of beads, and a silver moon-shaped pendant – most likely stolen from a settlement – hung at her chest.

Upon realizing he was awake, the one bearing a staff nodded at her companion, murmuring something, and walked away. The other watched her go, then knelt at Vader's side. Her eyes seem to bore into his own, to seek for something...

The mind probe was unexpected, but he was able to shield his mind well enough from it. So the Tuskens were the Force-strongs he had felt in the deserts. That oversight would have to be corrected soon...

The Tusken woman withdrew the probe, nodding. "You are strong."

That startled him. "You know Basic?"

She nodded. "I studied it with an outsider man. I know much about your people." She settled down at his side. "I know you are powerful, and can be a great enemy to our tribe. I hope to avoid that."

"Too late," Vader snarled. "You and all your people have been enemies to me for a long time..."

"Do not judge all of us by the actions of a few, Darth Vader," she advised firmly. "Yes, I know your name. And I know you are a Sith, a user of the Force. I do not wish to see you become an enemy to the tribe." She touched his shoulder, which he now saw had been bound in a crude bandage. "Once your wound has closed, we shall take you back to the outsider settlement."

"I don't believe you," Vader hissed. "Why would you have captured me in the first place if you intended to let me go?"

She sighed. "Curse White-Serpent," she muttered. "He thought he could capture you and use your powers for himself. He still wishes to make you his slave... but the chief wants you dead. I and my sisters do not want your Empire as an enemy, however. So we shall risk the wrath of the chief to free you."

"How do I know I can trust you?" demanded Vader.

She pulled something from within her robes – his lightsaber. Before he could react, she had placed it in his hand and closed his fingers around it. "Is that enough?"

He raised the saber and examined it, ensuring the Tuskens hadn't tampered with it at all, then clipped it to his belt. "Not enough."

She bowed her head, and he sensed conflict within her. But she spoke at last, though reluctantly. "Then I shall tell you that I know about your son."

He shot upright, paying for his haste with a wave of skull-splitting agony. "My son?"

"Your son." She raised her head again. "The outsider Obi-wan Kenobi brought him to our lands to give to his aunt and uncle, but he was attacked and lost the child. My parents found him and raised him. I have thought of him as a brother for years..."

He stared at her, uncomprehending. His son... raised by Tuskens... raised AS a Tusken...

_I'm going to kill Obi-wan for this, _he vowed. _For his sick idea of a joke, for making a mockery of my mother's death in this fashion... My son thinks he's one of these savages, one of these animals..._

"Where is he now?" Vader snarled.

"With Obi-wan," she replied. "He left the planet with Obi-wan and his sister. Obi-wan wishes him to become a Jedi."

New rage awakened, rage toward Obi-wan that temporarily dwarfed his hatred toward the Tuskens. His treacherous Master would now seek to twist his son's mind to his will? That would be a mistake Obi-wan would live to regret...

"Your name, woman." It wasn't a question, but a demand.

"Wind-Dancer," she replied. "I am a Daughter of the Moons, one of the holy women of the tribe."

"Your people killed someone close to me," Vader told her. "I cannot forgive that. But I am willing to forget it for now... if you will help me."

She nodded. "Your son is like a brother to me. I promised to do all I could to help him. And if helping him means helping his father... so be it." She took his hand and clasped it. "Truce."

"Truce," he agreed. "How long before we can leave?"

"Your shoulder should be healed enough for travel in a day. After that, we will take you back to your settlement."

"Very well. Until then, tell me all you know about my son... and Obi-wan."

His unlikely new ally nodded and sat back, ready to begin.

_Break..._

"Not there yet?" repeated the holographic image of the Emperor, frowning.

Tarkin bowed respectfully. "No, your Excellency, Lord Vader has yet to arrive aboard the Death Star. He is greatly overdue... should I send troops to his last known location to find him?"

The Emperor seemed to consider a moment. "No. That won't be necessary. He is simply undertaking another task... one that can serve the Empire as much as the Death Star."

Tarkin couldn't see how this was possible. The battle station was the ultimate power in the universe, never mind what Vader claimed about the Force being superior. What else could be more vital to the Empire than ensuring this station was operational and in prime shape for battle...

"Set your course for the Alderaan system, Tarkin."

"Your Highness?"

"It is time we sent a message to her Royal Highness Princess Leia," the Emperor smiled. "And to all who would dare oppose the Empire. We will ensure the Rebellion knows we mean business... and we will perhaps flush our wayward senator out of hiding."

Tarkin nodded, pleased to know the Emperor's thoughts on the matter matched his own. "It will be done immediately, my Lord."

The holo winked out with a snatch of wicked laughter.


	12. Night of Visions

**Chapter 12 – Night of Visions**

_The Tusken charged him, howling, a brilliant blue lightsaber raised high over his head. Vader blocked the slash, feeling the strength of the blow even through his cybernetic arms. He clenched his teeth as his son struck again, pounding at his defenses, his robes billowing and his masked face a nightmare in itself…_

"_You destroyed my family," Luke hissed. "You betrayed Mother… and the Jedi."_

"_I only wanted to protect her," Vader countered. "Her, you, and your sister…"_

"_Some protection," Luke growled. "You abandoned me, Father. You abandoned Leia. You exiled Obi-wan and murdered Mother. You betrayed us all."_

"_I had no choice," Vader said desperately._

_The blue saber struck his red one, and the blade disintegrated in a thousand shards of crimson light. Then Luke's blade seared through his arms, leaving smoking metal stumps in the place of his hands._

"_You had a choice… and you chose to follow the path of darkness, the path of power and greed. You have fallen so low. You're not worthy for me to call you Father."_

_The azure blade swept toward his head…_

Vader shot bolt upright, his heart pounding despite all the efforts of his life-support systems to regulate it. Disoriented, he glanced around, seeking his men, his lightsaber, his foe…

The leather wall of the Temple of the Moons lay to his right, and on the other three sides he was surrounded by the slumbering forms of the Tusken tribe's holy women, the Daughters of the Moons. The clay fire-bowl in the center of the temple glowed with a red-gold light, a young priestess sitting awake close by to keep the flames going and the temple warm through the night. The metal ornaments and chains hanging from the ceiling glittered in the firelight, and in the far corner of the tent he could hear the subdued chittering and squeaking of a clutch of flappers in their leather cage, awaiting their fate in some ceremony or other.

_A dream, _he decided. _Nothing more. _The knowledge that he had a Tusken for a son was simply stirring up his emotions…

But what the visionary Luke had told him troubled him on some level…

He caught movement to his left, and he turned to see Wind-Dancer also sitting up in her pallet, staring at him and cocking her head at an inquisitive angle.

_Nightmare? _she queried, relying on the Force to communicate to avoid disturbing the others.

_Nothing that concerns you, _he retorted.

_Sky-Walker is my brother as well as Leia's, _she shot back. _If your dream concerns him, then it also concerns me._

_I will have you know that the only reason I forged this truce with you is because you are useful to me, _Vader informed her. _I am not doing this for your tribe's benefit or yours. I only seek to reclaim my son._

_And I only seek to help you in order to protect my people and my brother, not for YOUR benefit, _she countered. _Let us admit we're doing this for our own selfish reasons and leave it be._

He cut off their connection and lay back down, setting up a block in his mind to ward off any more of her inquiries. She didn't attempt to reestablish the link, however, but simply rolled over in her pallet and ignored him.

Vader stared at the ceiling of the tent, lost in thought. Wind-Dancer had told Vader as much about his son as she knew, including his true name of Luke, though apparently he had opted to call himself by his original surname. Apparently, despite his vastly different upbringing, Luke possessed many of the traits a younger Anakin Skywalker had – recklessness, courage, curiosity, a thirst for adventure, a disregard for rules and authority… and a kind heart. Of all things a kind heart! How in the galaxy could he retain THAT while being raised by the most brutal creatures in existence?

He shifted his arm, flexing the wounded shoulder. It hurt to exercise the muscles, but at least he hadn't lost use of it. His leg was another story, but once they reached some kind of civilization tomorrow that would be swiftly repaired. He would be ready to resume his search…

Ready to bring his son and daughter back under his wing. Ready to exact vengeance upon Kenobi. Ready to set his ultimate goal into motion… to overthrow the Emperor.

Before sleep could claim him, however, he had something he needed to do.

He dropped into a meditative trance, reaching out to touch Luke's mind, to feel his presence. The boy was asleep, wracked with bizarre dreams as his brain, accustomed to a simpler life on a desert world, struggled to process the information he had taken in that day. For a moment Vader was reminded of another boy on another ship departing Tatooine for the first time, struggling with strange dreams and the knowledge that he might never go home again…

He shook himself free of those thoughts and plunged into Luke's mind, ready to make true contact with his son for the first time.

_Break…_

_Skywalker's dreams were a weird jumble that night aboard the Falcon – symbols floating across the sky trying to impart a message he couldn't decipher, a training remote chasing him down the streets of Mos Eisley and shooting deadly bolts, stormtroopers aboard banthas pursuing the Falcon across the stars… He shifted in his sleep, moaning, straining to understand. But the harder he tried to decrypt these night visions, the more twisted and indecipherable they became._

_Suddenly a hiss and a flare of red light cut through the chaos, and the Black One stood before him in all his fearsome glory. Skywalker screamed as the creature strode forward, armor gleaming, mask rasping malevolently. He groped for his gaderffi, his lightsaber, anything…_

"_You belong to me, Luke Skywalker," the Black One breathed. "Not to Obi-wan. Not to Leia's people. To me." He raised a hand, beckoning. "Come to me, young one. I am your future. I am your destiny."_

"_I'll never join you!" Skywalker shouted, finding his saber and gaderffi at last and brandishing both weapons at the Black One._

"_If only you knew the power of the dark side," came the resonant reply. "If only you knew the true reason Obi-wan has taken you from everything you know…"_

_Skywalker hesitated. "What's that supposed to mean?"_

"_Ask your new Master," the Black One snarled. "Ask him the truth…"_

"Skywalker."

He jolted awake. "Obi-wan?"

Obi-wan gazed down upon him with a worried expression. "Are you all right?"

"A dream," he moaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. "A dream of the Black One."

Obi-wan nodded, the concerned look remaining. "I felt his presence while you slept. I fear he tried to contact you through your dreams."

"He can do that?"

"Distance is no barrier when a Force-sensitive wants to communicate with someone." He frowned. "What did he say to you?"

"That I belonged to him." He shuddered. "That it was my destiny to be with him. And that… that you had a reason for taking me away from Tatooine."

Obi-wan's eyebrows arched upward in mild surprise. "And did he state the reason?"

"No. He told me to ask you."

He sat down on the edge of Skywalker's bed. "Let me ask you this – why did you leave Tatooine? You could have easily simply stayed with your people."

"I left because I needed to learn how to defeat the Black One," Skywalker replied. "And I left so I could learn more about my past, my human heritage."

Obi-wan nodded. "And after that… what are your plans?"

He hesitated. "I don't know."

"Skywalker, the Force is unusually strong with you. You are strong enough to become a great Jedi someday, given the training."

"Like my father?"

He nodded. "Like your father. I took you from Tatooine in order for you to learn what you wished to learn, but I also took you in the hopes that you would agree to become a Jedi Knight, to help me restore the Jedi Order… and bring justice back to the galaxy. But if you have no wish to become a Jedi, I will return you to Tatooine if you so wish."

Skywalker shook his head. "I want to learn the ways of the Force. I want to become a Jedi like my father. And I want to help my people… Tuskens and humans alike."

Obi-wan smiled. "Thank you, Skywalker. I know you will become a great Jedi someday."

Han stepped in at that moment. "We're coming out of hyperspace now. Alderaan's coming up."

Obi-wan stood. "We're here, Skywalker."

He pushed aside the blankets and climbed out of bed. "What's Alderaan like, Obi-wan?"

"Leia can answer that better than I," he replied as she stepped out of the refresher, making a final adjustment to her braids.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Skywalker would like to hear about Alderaan."

She smiled fondly. "It's beautiful. There are many mountain ranges, some so high you swear they touch the stars. And I always loved traveling to the lakes near our home for picnics…"

"Lakes?"

She faltered, then smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. I keep forgetting you're from a desert world. A lake is a large area covered by water."

"You mean like a sacred spring?"

"Bigger," Obi-wan replied. "Much bigger. There are lakes on Alderaan larger than the Dune Sea."

He felt his jaw drop. "Enough water to fill the Dune Sea? That's impossible! How can that much water exist in one place?"

"Not all worlds are like Tatooine, young Skywalker," Obi-wan told him. "There are other desert worlds, yes, but also many that are covered in plant life or rock, and others entirely covered in water or ice. The galaxy is vast and varied, and there is much for you to see and learn."

"I see that," he said in awe. "There's so much I don't know…"

"You three going to stand there and gab all day?" asked Han.

Leia cast a disapproving glance at the smuggler. "You seem to be in a hurry to be rid of us."

"I'm just along for the credits, Senator," he told her. "Whatever business a crazy old man has with a Tusken kid and a senator isn't my problem." He caught Skywalker's eye and flashed him a grin. "Seeing as this is your first time in space, kid, maybe you'd like to take your first look at another planet?"

"I'd love that!" Skywalker exclaimed. A thrill of pleasure gripped him. No other member of the tribe could claim to have laid eyes on another world… or to set foot on one, as he would soon do. This was the experience of a lifetime!

Skywalker, Obi-wan, and Leia followed Han to the front of the Falcon – the cockpit, Skywalker reminded himself – and to an eye-popping view. A great sphere of glowing blue and white filled his vision, silently beautiful. As he continued to stare the swirls of white that streaked the globe's surface shifted gently, like smoke wafting from a campfire. And surrounding both this magnificent sphere and the Falcon was a panorama of infinite blackness studded with the gleaming gems of stars.

"That's Alderaan?" he breathed.

"Yes, Skywalker," Obi-wan replied. "We will be landing shortly, I presume, Solo?"

Han nodded. "Give me a minute."

Skywalker couldn't tear his eyes away. "It's so big!" He reached out his hand as if longing to touch it. "Why is it blue?"

"That's water, Skywalker," Leia explained.

He turned to her with a wondering expression. "You have that much water on Alderaan?"

"Yes, we do." She placed a hand on his arm. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

He continued to gaze upon the planet. "Where are the suns and moons? I don't see them..."

"Alderaan doesn't have any moons," Leia explained. "We only have one sun, and it's behind us at the moment."

"No moons? Then who guards your people at night?"

Han gave him a strange look.

"Keep your comments to yourself, Solo," Obi-wan suggested. "He cannot help his ignorance."

"Ignorance?" Skywalker repeated, taken aback.

"The Tuskens have learned much about Tatooine," Obi-wan replied, "having traveled its surface for thousands of years. However, their knowledge of the worlds and space beyond Tatooine... that is another matter."

"What do you mean?"

"The Tuskens see the suns and moons as godly figures," he explained. "They give them sentience and personalities, believing them to be givers and takers of life, deliverers of justice and vengeance, and bestowers of gifts and visions. Those you term outsiders, however, have learned that the suns are, in reality, simply stars that the worlds revolve around. The moons are smaller worlds, if you will, that revolve around worlds. They do provide light and life to worlds to a certain extent, but they have no intelligence, no life."

Skywalker stared at Obi-wan. "That can't be right. What about the ceremonies to honor the suns and moons? What about the visions the suns grant? What about the night-demons the moons repel?"

"The visions you speak of come through the Force, and I have found that the acts the Daughters of the Moons perform at ceremonies are also the work of the Force. As for the night-demons... many species have an instinctive fear of the dark, and so they conjure up evil spirits and monsters in their minds to fill that darkness."

He leaned back against the wall, stunned. No all-powerful suns and moons guided his life? No spirits answered the calls of the Daughters of the Moons? All he had been taught to believe... was a lie? Bad enough that Obi-wan had revealed his true lineage as an outsider – now he had completely unraveled the beliefs that had made up his life for the past eighteen years.

"Enough, Kenobi," Leia told the old Jedi. "He looks like you hit him with a prybar."

"He needs to know and understand the truth, Princess," Obi-wan replied.

"Yes, but you don't need to dump it all on him at once." She clasped Skywalker's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"I... I don't know." He gazed helplessly at his sister. "I suppose..."

Chewie howled, making Skywalker nearly jump out of his skin.

"I see it," Han retorted, his voice grave. "Whatever it is, it doesn't look friendly..."

Skywalker, Leia, and Obi-wan looked up at Han's comment. When they caught sight of Chewie's find, Skywalker gaped in awe, Leia paled, and Obi-wan wore an expression of dread.

A dull-gray sphere had emerged from the darkness behind Alderaan, much smaller than the planet but still massive compared to the Falcon. It hung over the gleaming blue world like the cold eye of a predator, silent and oddly sinister. Skywalker felt a chill grip him as he stared at this menace, and his skin crawled.

"The Death Star," Leia whispered.

"That's a star?" he inquired.

"It's a space station," Obi-wan replied gravely.

"It's too big to be a space station!" protested Han.

Cold fear exploded in Skywalker's gut, driving the wind from him as surely as if he'd been punched. Horrid pictures danced across his eyes – searing green light, burning rock, the faces of a vast multitude crying out in horror and pain... an outsider ship caught in the outstretched arms of the inferno, melting in the intense heat, its occupants dying in torment...

"Get away!" he cried without thinking. "We have to get away now!"

Obi-wan staggered, as if he'd been struck by the same horrific blow that had stunned Skywalker. Then he regained his balance. "Han, get this ship away from here. Fast!"

"What's going..."

"Do it!" The Jedi wore an expression of fear for the first time Skywalker had seen.

Han began to protest, but a roar from Chewie shut him up. He whirled the ship around, and it began screaming in the opposite direction.

A flash of green at the edges of Skywalker's vision...

A wave of energy seized the Falcon and shook it brutally, throwing the occupants violently around. The ship cartwheeled helplessly through space as the horrific explosion propelled it farther and farther away. Alarms sounded in the cockpit, systems screamed for attention, warning lights flared...

Pain swamped Skywalker's senses, the pain of a world dying... and the pain of his sister's soul.

_Leia! _was his last thought before striking his head on something and blacking out.

_Break..._

Wind-Dancer fell to her knees, gasping, the basket of cactus fruit she'd been carrying falling to the sands and its contents scattering. Pain... suffering... death... fire... terror... a world shattering... an outsider ship tumbling through space... a cold sphere of metal gliding through the stars...

Sky-Walker...

She forced herself to her feet and ran the rest of the distance to the Temple of the Moons, forgetting the fruit entirely. Her legs still trembled beneath her, but she would not slow her pace. Star-Thief had to know this! There was danger to her brother, and quite possibly to the tribe...

She flung back the tent flap to find chaos. The Daughters of the Moons should have been preparing themselves for the coming ceremony, but instead they were quivering with fear wherever they stood or sat. Some had fainted from the shock; others huddled together like frightened children, crying. A young priestess had collapsed right at the door of the tent, and Wind-Dancer hurriedly bent to help the whimpering Daughter to her feet. Star-Thief herself leaned against one of the support poles, one hand over her heart as she gasped for air.

"Eldest Daughter!" exclaimed Wind-Dancer, running to help her.

Star-Thief waved her away. "I'm fine, Wind-Dancer. It's not my heart; it's my spirit. Something dreadful has happened."

A deep moan, like the echo of thunder, issued from a corner of the tent, and the two women turned to see Vader slowly rise from his pallet, where had fallen in a fetal position. He, too, had felt the strange premonition that had swept the encampment, and it had affected him just as much as it had the priestesses.

"What happened?" moaned young Cloud-Chaser. "Was it a spirit passing through?"

"No," Star-Thief replied, straightening and scraping her dignity together. "A vision."

"But I thought only Sons of the Suns had visions..." protested Cloud-Chaser.

"The gift of vision is their specialty," Wind-Dancer replied. "But they are by no means the only ones who can see visions. The Black One saw it too, you will notice."

"Do you think the Sons saw this as well?" asked Storm-Chaser, struggling to sit up.

"Of course they saw it," Star-Thief muttered. "But they'll use it to either curry favor with the chief or whip the tribe into a frenzy, not help Sky-Walker."

Storm-Chaser moaned, clasping her belly. The other priestesses rushed to her aid, laying her back and ensuring she was comfortable. With child by one of the dragon hunters, she wasn't due to give birth for another moon, but the sudden vision could very well have sparked labor prematurely. Wind-Dancer made sure her friend and her child were in no danger before going to the Black One.

Vader knelt on his pallet, hands resting on his thighs, his gaze seemingly fixed on a blank spot on the tent wall. When Wind-Dancer approached, his gaze moved to her.

"The pregnant woman... she will be all right?" he inquired.

Wind-Dancer nodded. "The fright of the vision must have reached her child. There is no danger of the baby coming too soon, however."

He nodded. She caught the briefest glimpse of another woman, this one outsider and also carrying a child, before his mind closed off from her view.

"How many Tuskens will see this vision?" he inquired.

"Only the Sons of the Suns and Daughters of the Moons," she replied. "The other tribes might sense the death, but not the danger to Sky-Walker, as he is unfamiliar to them. Our tribe will know that danger faces one of our own... but I sense you know more about this vision?"

"I do... but you would not understand it."

She squared her shoulders back, a challenging gesture. "Try me."\

Vader took the challenge. "The Death Star, a space station with the power to destroy a planet. It was still under construction when I came to Tatooine, but I can only assume it is now complete and operational… and has been put to use."

She nodded. "An outsider ship with the power to kill a world… that has already exercised that power," she noted, and she felt an irrational pleasure at seeing him stare at her, startled that she knew what he was talking about.

He recovered quickly, however. "Luke was not on the planet when it was destroyed. I feel his presence still."

She nodded slowly. "All the same… I do not like this."

His gaze now moved to the tent flap. "How soon can I leave?"

She thought on that a moment. "Give me a few hours to make preparations. You cannot simply ride out of camp, after all, with the tribe after your blood."

He nodded. "Two hours."

"It will be done." She turned to Star-Thief. "We have to get him out of here. With this newest vision of Sky-Walker in peril, the tribe will want more than ever to ensure the 'night-demon' is dead."

Star-Thief nodded agreement. "It's only a matter of time before they storm the tent demanding proof of his death. I agree with you; he must leave soon. The question is how."

Wind-Dancer glanced over at Storm-Chaser… and felt a sly grin cross her lips beneath her veil. "I have a plan."


	13. The Hidden Sith

**Chapter 13 – The Hidden Sith**

Skywalker's head swam in a sea of dull pain as he opened his eyes. Everything before him was blurred beyond recognition. Sounds were oddly muffled, and in his temples he could feel the pulsing of his heart as if it had shifted from his chest to his skull while he had been unconscious. Groggily he tried to piece together what had reduced him to this state, but his memory didn't want to cooperate. Alderaan... that big blue globe... the dull gray star...

The vision... fire... light... Leia!

He forced himself to his feet and glanced about to find Leia. He didn't have to look long – she was lying nearby, curled in a fetal position and so still he feared the explosion had killed her. But when he looked a little longer, he saw her sides move in and out. So at least she was still breathing...

"Leia?" he whispered, kneeling beside her.

Shaking, she pulled herself up in a sitting position and turned to face him. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her face had a taut look to it as if ready to snap. Seeing Alderaan destroyed was a deep loss to her, but it seemed she wouldn't let herself grieve over it, even if it tore her apart.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm so sorry."

The last fragment of her composure crumbled, and she embraced him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder. He held her close, feeling tears of his own slide down his cheeks. His poor sister... not only losing her home, but watching it be destroyed before her very eyes...

"Skywalker?"

He looked up to see Obi-wan hovering over them expectantly. A touch of worry showed in his aged face.

"She's hurt," Skywalker explained quietly. "Her soul's hurt."

He nodded slowly. "She has been through an ordeal. I am deeply sorry, Your Highness."

She took a deep breath, struggling to control herself, then pulled away from Skywalker. Her face was a mess, but there was a smile on her lips. "Thank you. Both of you."

"Anything for my sister," Skywalker replied, placing his hand over hers.

He helped her to her feet, then turned back to the viewscreen, fully expecting to see the shattered remains of a dead world. Instead, he saw the stars blurring by as the Falcon tore through that mysterious realm called hyperspace. Han and Chewie were busy inspecting various systems, ensuring the Falcon had not sustained damage from the force of the blast. Artoo helped out where he could, but Threepio seemed content to crouch in a corner and mutter to himself.

"Where are we going now?" Skywalker asked.

"I was about to ask the same," Han replied, not looking up from the readout system he was scanning.

Obi-wan turned to Leia. "I hate to sound callous, your Highness, but did you have a backup plan in the event that you couldn't reach Alderaan?"

She nodded, slowly regaining her composure. "If Bail Organa was... unable to deliver the plans... we were to proceed directly to the Rebel base." Her gaze moved to Han and Chewie. "But can we trust them with the location?"

Han looked up, his brow arched. "Rebel base?"

Obi-wan nodded resignedly. "From Alderaan, we were supposed to proceed to the Rebel base. I had not intended on involving you in that, however..."

"So I'm carrying a hotter passenger load than I first thought." He considered a moment, then nodded. "I have no love for the Empire. Not saying I'll join your revolution... but I'll take you there, and I'll keep my mouth shut afterward."

Chewie barked and nodded his agreement.

"They speak the truth, Leia," Obi-wan told her.

"All right," she said unsurely. "The base is on the fourth moon of the planet Yavin."

Han gave a little snort. "Just beyond nowhere, eh? You Rebels sure pick winning planets to do your business on."

"Just take us there," she snapped, and she broke away from Skywalker's side and strode deeper into the ship. Skywalker began to follow her, but Obi-wan's hand stayed him.

"Let her go," he ordered. "She has been through an ordeal and needs time to recover."

"I wish I could help her," Skywalker said in frustration.

"You have helped her already by being there for her." Obi-wan smiled wearily. "When you're ready, I would like to begin another training exercise in the passenger area."

"Okay."

Obi-wan departed. Skywalker turned to Han and Chewie, watching them at their work. It was fascinating to see all the tools and artifacts and processes that went into working this ship. The ship didn't seem to be one big machine – it was, in fact, many hundreds of smaller machines that worked together to form a cohesive whole.

_Just like the Tuskens, its members working in their many different callings to make the whole tribe work... _

He drew away from that thought. He was no longer Tusken. He had to stop thinking like one.

"Can I help?" he asked.

Han shook his head. "Nothing you can do, kid." He turned to the corner where Threepio huddled and gave an exasperated snort. "Except move Goldenrod out of the way, if you want."

"Goldenrod?"

"The droid, kid. Don't want to be tripping over him all day."

He moved to the corner and knelt beside Threepio. "Are you all right?"

Threepio drew his head up sharply, as if startled that Skywalker was addressing him at all. "I'm quite all right, Master Skywalker... just a little nervous still, I suppose." He managed to get to his feet. "Thank you for your concern, sir."

"You're my friend," Skywalker replied, standing himself. "Of course I'm concerned for you."

"Friend?" Threepio ducked his head. "Oh, I'm quite flattered, Master Skywalker, that you would consider a mere droid your friend."

Skywalker cocked his head. "People keep calling you that."

"Calling me what?"

"Droid. What does it mean? Is it a title, like Jedi or Princess?"

"Oh no, Master Skywalker," Threepio protested. "Not in the slightest. A droid is simply a term for a mechanical being like myself and Artoo."

That floored Skywalker. "You're a machine?"

"Of course I am... em, I thought you knew."

He shook his head. "I had always assumed you were a human in armor." His gaze moved to Artoo, who had a pincer-arm plunged beneath a panel and was tinkering with a collection of wires. "And that Artoo was an intelligent armored creature."

Han, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation, laughed. "Intelligent droid. Now there's an oxymoron if I've ever heard one."

Artoo turned his head to face the smuggler and gave a disrespectful _blaaatt _sound.

Skywalker studied Threepio's gold-plated body, the yellow eyepieces and the metal-encased limbs, the joints and the gap in the stomach where blue and red wires were exposed. When he had first met Threepio, he had known so little about outsider machines that he hadn't been able to identify those colored stripes... but now he recognized them as the wires that coursed through machinery like veins in living flesh, carrying energy and signals. He now realized that the wires weren't the only sign of Threepio's inhumanity – his moves were far jerkier than a human's, and his voice distorted and tinny. And the fact that Threepio considered himself beneath everyone else, that even he recognized that he was unequal to humans...

He felt like an idiot for believing a machine to be human – so much that he wanted to go crawl under a floor panel somewhere.

Threepio saw him flush and reacted. "Forgive me, Master Skywalker, if I have embarrassed you in any way..."

"No, Threepio," he assured the droid. "It's not you."

Something tugged at his leg, and he looked down to see Artoo grasping his pant leg with a pincer. The smaller droid crooned in a remarkably concerned tone. The action was so cute that he had to smile. Machines or not, Threepio and Artoo were friends. He owed them so much for leading him to his sister in the first place. He would no longer view them as humans... but neither would he consider them unequals, for they were every bit at intelligent and capable of emotion as outsiders.

"Thanks," he told the droid, patting his dome. "Friends?"

"Friends, Master Skywalker," Threepio replied, and Artoo chirped agreement.

Skywalker patted Threepio's shoulder, then went back to the passenger area to begin his next lesson.

_Break..._

The holo-image of Tarkin blurred a moment before resolving itself, the sole illumination in the Emperor's private meditation chamber. The miniature replica of the Grand Moff bowed deeply before speaking.

"Alderaan is destroyed, your Highness. A Corellian freighter whose markings match those of a ship that blasted away from Mos Eisley spaceport on Tatooine was seen close by immediately before and after the explosion. I have a ship following at a safe distance; it is only a matter of time before it leads us directly to the Rebel base."

Palpatine nodded slowly. "Good work, Tarkin. When you receive coordinates for the Rebel base, proceed there at full speed. Meanwhile I will address the Empire regarding the tragic loss of Alderaan."

"Yes, your Highness." The holo winked out.

Palpatine grinned, dark elation flooding through him. Alderaan, that paradisial planet that had nonetheless harbored a nest of treacherous vipers, was obliterated. The princess, no doubt desperate to reach her cohorts and exact revenge for her lost planet, was completely unaware that she was leading the Empire right to the main forces of the Rebellion. And Vader was flushing out his offspring on Tatooine, seeking out the two Force-strong youths that would grant immeasurable power to whatever Order they elected to serve, be it Jedi or Sith.

That last should have concerned the Emperor – from the very beginning he had known that Darth Vader intended to eventually overthrow him, and with his children at his side he could very well accomplish that. But Vader shared a major flaw with most of the rest of the galaxy – namely, he was predictable. He would seek to allay the Emperor's suspicions by presenting his children to the Emperor before beginning their training. And he would attempt to trick him into believing the youths were less powerful than they truly were.

Palpatine was no fool. If Vader thought he could instigate a takeover that easily, he was going to have a very rude awakening shortly.

He allowed himself a dry, slow chuckle before sinking back into the dark side in a meditative trance.

_Break..._

Weed found himself wishing that a dragon or a party of outsiders would attack soon, if only to off his fellow sentry. Why Stone-Shadow had decided it was necessary for members of the Serpent Tribe to help guard the camp was beyond him.

"Glorious battle, it was," the Serpent Tribe guard growled, his knuckles cracking as he tightened his grip on his gaderffi. "Overtaking the night-demon, watching him fall under my blade. The smell of sweat and blood, the thrill of combat. Give me a weapon and an enemy to cut down, and I am content."

Weed nudged Archer with a foot, and the bantha turned slightly to face away from the other guard. This guy was really creeping him out. All he could talk about was the joy of killing – not just the thrill of a dragon hunt or the mingled relief and triumph of warding off an enemy attack, but the insane, inexplicable pleasure he seemed to get from terrorizing and brutalizing other Tusken tribes, outsider settlements, and Jawa caravans. He wondered if the guy realized that he was talking to a Redrock tribe member and not a fellow Serpent tribesman.

"That's the problem with your tribe," he went on, answering Weed's question for him. "You can't just fight for the necessity of it. You have to WANT it, to ENJOY it. It is not enough to defeat a foe – if you gain no pleasure from that defeat, then what's the point?"

"Can we talk about something else?" asked Weed.

The sentry laughed mockingly. "Fine then, little boy, we'll discuss something else." He considered a moment. "Heard from your friend at all? The one just made a Son of the Suns?"

"He left a few days ago," Weed replied. "Haven't heard from him since."

The sentry snorted. "Probably fled your tribe in shame. Oh, it has happened," he went on. "Young men from the Redrock Tribe have fled to our camp before, desperate to escape their fate as Sons of the Suns. Why, pray tell, do your Sons have so many blasted rules to live by?"

"The Suns value purity," Weed replied. "They accept only those young men who vow to keep themselves free of the distractions of the world in order to view the future..."

"Bantha dung and you know it. If that was true, why don't the Daughters of the Moons live by the same laws? Why do they have the run of the camp while your Sons sit around staring at rocks and sand?"

"Because while the Suns value purity, the Moons value strength," Weed answered, wondering why this wasn't common knowledge to the sentry. "Suns need purity to keep their light unsullied... but Moons need strength to drive away the dark forces of night. If the Daughters bowed to the same rules and laws as the Sons, they would not be strong enough to hold back the darkness."

The sentry shook his head. "You could learn a few lessons from our people, little boy. The true strength comes from the Suns. The Moons are only good for a pretty show. Your people should revere the Sons..."

A bantha honked behind them, and they turned to see a caravan lumbering over a dune and heading in the direction of the Wastes. Weed gaped – was every Daughter of the Moons leaving camp? If so, why?

The Serpent-Tribe sentry kicked his mount forward and cut off the Daughters before they could proceed any farther. "And where are you going, ladies?"

Wind-Dancer sat up straight in her saddle, giving the guard a stern look. "The Daughters of the Moons are taking our sister, Storm-Chaser, into the desert to give birth to her child. Let us pass."

Weed looked the caravan over. All fourteen of the Daughters were present, including Storm-Chaser herself in the center, hands on her swollen belly and head bowed low. Two warriors and the healer were also present. Nothing seemed amiss...

"What if I don't believe you?" demanded the sentry with a leer. "What if I decide not to let you by until I'm satisfied that you're not off doing something treacherous?"

Wind-Dancer jerked as if she had been slapped, then leaned forward to deliver a tirade.

"Enough, Wind-Dancer," Star-Thief told the younger Daughter. "Fighting with him will do no good. If he insists on holding us here and interrogating us, he is free to do so. He has that right. And furthermore, I'm sure he would be very willing to help us should Storm-Chaser give birth while we're standing here."

Storm-Chaser gave a deep, shuddering moan. Weed almost jumped from his saddle to help her. That sound had been so terrible... and if her voice was that distorted, the pain must be unbearable. How did women stand childbirth anyway?

The sentry stared incredulously at Star-Thief, then looked at Storm-Chaser and shrank back slightly, the thought of being drafted into midwife duty sickening him. Grudgingly he pulled his bantha's head around and rode in the opposite direction.

"Pass," Weed told them, waving his hand in the direction of the Wastes. "May the suns watch over the child."

"May the moons watch over you," Wind-Dancer told him.

As soon as they had left, the sentry growled. "See what I mean? Impertinent, stuck-up, conniving little creatures, those females. They need to be taught a lesson."

"Like you're going to teach it to them?" snorted Weed.

"You don't know the half of it," the guard retorted. "There'll be changes in your tribe now that we've joined forces, little boy. Great changes indeed."

Weed shuddered to think of what those changes would entail.

_Break..._

It wasn't until they were an hour's journey from where the sentries had accosted them that Wind-Dancer finally allowed herself to relax. "That was too close," she told Star-Thief.

"The Serpent Tribe is up to no good," Star-Thief murmured, twisting the reins of her bantha in her hands. "As if anything else can be expected."

From behind the two Daughters came a voice that was far too deep to be Storm-Chaser's, even though the speaker rode her mount and wore her robes and jewelry. "Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?"

"Shut up and act like you're in labor," Wind-Dancer retorted, smirking a little under her veil. Vader had done his share of torturing and humiliating others over the years. Let him be on the receiving end of it for once.

Star-Thief brought her sable mount, Nightscream, to a halt. Wind-Dancer tugged on Slowfoot's reins to stop his progress as well. The entire caravan shuffled to a complete stop before their destination – the outsider dwelling that housed Vader's troops. The building was deserted, but that was to be expected. Vader had been gone for nearly two days, and they would be searching the deserts for him at this moment.

"We're here," Wind-Dancer announced.

"Where's here?" demanded one of the guards. "What are we doing at an outsider nest?"

"Don't ask questions," Star-Thief barked. "Dismount now."

The two guards hopped down from their steeds' backs, still eyeing Star-Thief suspiciously.

"Do you want us to raid?" asked the other guard. "Gather supplies for Storm-Chaser?"

Star-Thief cocked her head at the two men. "What I want you do now, gentlemen, is sleep."

They looked at her strangely... then slumped to the sands. Four Daughters of the Moons dismounted to collect the unconscious men and load them back on their banthas.

Wind-Dancer nodded, impressed. "Mindtouch?"

"Partially. But I also had the healer dose their noon wine with dhekk-root. The mindtouch made them sleep, but the dhekk will ensure they sleep deeply enough to keep the Black One's release a secret."

Vader slid down from the bantha's back, but almost fell over when he hit the sands. Only by grabbing fistfuls of the beast's hair was he able to stay upright. Wind-Dancer jumped down from Slowfoot's back and moved to help him, but he waved her away as he began to strip away the robes, wrappings, and padding that had formed his disguise as Storm-Chaser. Within a matter of moments, a gleaming black-armored Sith stood where a few moments ago there had apparently been a pregnant Tusken woman.

"That sight almost makes this journey worth it," Wind-Dancer smiled.

Vader shook a fist at her. "I have not yet promised that I would not kill you," he snarled.

"You need to work on your sense of humor," she told him, and she ducked under his arm and supported his weakened side. "I'll help you to the house."

Grudgingly he leaned on her as he limped to the house. She grunted a bit under his weight – he was far heavier than he looked. How many of his limbs were metal anyhow? That would explain his weight, not to mention why he had complained so vocally about the sand on this planet more than once.

He broke away from her at the doorway, leaning against the door frame. He turned to face her. "I go alone from here. You have been helpful."

She nodded. "Even if you invited me, I could not go with you. I am needed here. Things are happening with the tribe..." She trailed off. Vader hated Tuskens, and he certainly wouldn't care what was happening with a particular tribe...

"Someone is plotting against you," Vader replied. "I have sensed it."

She nodded. "I fear the Sons of the Suns desire more power... and that the Serpent Tribe is helping them in their plans."

He was silent a long while. "I refuse to be in your debt. When I have located my son, I will return and do what I can to put these Sons out of power."

"The tribe needs the Sons AND the Daughters," she protested, "just as Tatooine needs the day and the night. Thank you, but I must refuse the offer."

"Then I will think of something else." He gave her a respectful nod. "You are not what I expected you to be, Wind-Dancer. I am... grateful to you. May the Force be with you."

"May the moons watch over you, Vader."

The door hissed shut.

Star-Thief strode up to her fellow Daughter and clapped her shoulder. "You did as you should have, my friend."

"The healer will keep silent on this?" asked Wind-Dancer.

"Of course. We had her cooperation from the beginning."

"And how to explain Storm-Chaser's absence?"

"We will return in the morning, when the night-sentries are too tired to inspect us closely. If anyone asks, we will claim false labor pains."

Wind-Dancer turned away from the outsider home, lost in her own thoughts. Had she done the right thing in sending Vader after Sky-Walker? Or had she just made a horrible mistake?


	14. Two Against the Monster

**Chapter 14 -- Two Against the Monster**

_We're being followed._

Obi-wan roused himself from his meditation and rose to his feet, wincing as his legs complained from being in one position for so long. The tremors in the Force were pointing to one grave conclusion – someone had tailed them in their flight from the ruined Alderaan. Someone knew the freighter hadn't simply shown up by pure chance – and was determined to find out where it had vanished to.

And it didn't take a scholar to guess who their pursuer answered to.

He glanced about the passenger area. Leia sat at the holochess table with her head pillowed on her folded arms; whether she was asleep or simply lost in thought he wasn't sure. Threepio sat on a bench with one leg outstretched, Artoo tinkering with the wiring to sort out a nasty glitch. There was no sign of Skywalker, but Chewbacca was present, standing in the doorway with his arms folded. How long had he been waiting there?

"Is something wrong?"

Chewbacca replied with a grumble.

"What do you mean 'see what my Padawan's up to?'"

The Wookie huffed and led the way into the cockpit. Obi-wan followed… and found himself torn between smiling amusedly and gaping in horror.

Skywalker was sitting in the pilot's chair of the Falcon, nervous hands clutching the steergrip like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline. Han stood behind him, hands on his shoulders, coaching him through a flight maneuver. The ship wobbled slightly on its course as the young man struggled to pilot the freighter along the path Han suggested.

"That's it," the smuggler said encouragingly. "You've got it… easy on the curve here…"

"May I ask what's going on?" inquired Obi-wan.

Han didn't even look up. "Kid's a natural, old man. Ten minutes behind the controls and already he's handling it better than half the rookies in the Academy. Sure, he's not going to be navigating asteroid fields yet, but considering he's never even been in a starship until now…"

"Thank you for attempting to broaden Skywalker's horizons, Mr. Solo," Obi-wan told him, "but I was under the impression that we were in a hurry to get to Yavin."

Han snorted and tapped Skywalker's shoulder. "Okay, lesson's over. Was going to let you land the ship, but your Jedi friend here's being stubborn."

Skywalker stood and turned to face Obi-wan, an exultant grin on his face. "It was incredible, Obi-wan! I was _flying! _Flying through the stars!"

Obi-wan couldn't suppress a nostalgic smile. So like his father in that respect…

"I'm very glad you had the opportunity to learn a valuable skill, Skywalker," he told him. "But next time please consult me before trying something new."

"I wasn't in any danger," Skywalker protested. "Han was helping me. Besides, when I went to ask you if I could, you were meditating. I didn't want to disturb you…"

Chewie bellowed from the cockpit.

"I don't know where he came from!" protested Han. "Try to jam his communications!"

"What's going on?" asked Skywalker, turning toward Han.

"Another ship just came up on our sensors," Han replied brusquely. "Looks like it's been tailing us for awhile. We'll try to get rid of it…"

The ship roared into view – an oblong starcraft Obi-wan had last seen many years ago. But the owner was long dead, having met his doom at Mace Windu's hand…

"Sith!" swore Han. "It's Boba Fett!"

"Who?" asked Skywalker.

"Boba Fett?" repeated Obi-wan.

Han gave the Jedi Master a brief look of disdain. "I can understand the kid not knowing who Boba Fett is, but if you don't know, then you really needed to get out more often. Boba Fett's a bounty hunter. One of the best. And unluckily for you, he's in the Empire's pocket. Jabba's too – unluckily for me."

Leia burst into the cockpit at that moment. "What's going on?"

"Got a bounty hunter on our tail, Princess," Han replied. "Chewie, pilot this thing, I'll go man the guns…"

"Won't do any good," Obi-wan replied. "He's already entering hyperspace."

Leia held her head in her hands as Fett's ship streaked away. "This is disastrous. We have to warn the base. The Empire could be on its way any minute."

"Can't we fight the Death Star?" protested Skywalker. "There has to be a way to defeat it. Even a krayt dragon can be slain if one knows how…"

"That's just the problem, Skywalker," Obi-wan replied. "We have no idea how to fight the Death Star. The purpose of coming to Yavin was to deliver Artoo to the Alliance so he could provide them with information on the Death Star's design, that they might discover a flaw. But now that the Empire knows where we are, they can send the Death Star after us before we can discover such a flaw."

"And destroy Yavin like they destroyed Alderaan," he realized.

Obi-wan nodded gravely.

Skywalker took some time to digest this information. Satisfied that he had gotten his point across to his young apprentice, Obi-wan turned back to the viewscreen.

"How do we get the information from Artoo?" Skywalker suddenly asked.

"Excuse me?" Obi-wan turned back to Skywalker.

"How do we get the information?" he repeated. "If we start looking now, we can help find that flaw…"

"Skywalker, please don't play the hero…" began Leia.

His brilliant blue eyes met his sister's gaze, and they glittered with a determined light. "I won't let another world be destroyed like your homeworld was, Leia. Not when I can do something about it. If we just run from the Death Star, it will still be free to destroy other worlds. I refuse to run."

"Skywalker, I know the Tuskens revered the glory of battle," Obi-wan protested. "But this is not about glory, but about preserving the Rebellion so it may fight the Empire another day…"

"Do you think I'm thinking about glory?" snapped Skywalker. "I'm thinking about stopping a monster, not about glory. I'm thinking about protecting my people from the Empire. Because if they can destroy one world, they'll destroy more… and what if they decide to go after Tatooine next?"

Han snorted. "That'll be the day…"

"Enough out of you," Obi-wan ordered.

"The Tuskens teach that one works for the benefit of the entire tribe, not for the benefit of oneself," Skywalker went on. "The outsiders and the Rebellion are now part of my tribe. If working for their benefit means standing against the Death Star… so be it."

Artoo gave an electronic cheer and activated his holoprojector, revealing a detailed map of the interior of the Death Star.

"Artoo, you really aren't taking his side, are you?" exclaimed Threepio, shuffling into the room at that moment.

The smaller droid retorted with a _blaat _before returning its attention to the holo.

"Skywalker, you don't know anything about starships!" Leia protested. "How do you expect to find anything?"

"We're about to land anyhow," Han pointed out. "I doubt you'll find anything in the thirty seconds it'll take to…"

Artoo gave a long-suffering drone before launching into electronic speech.

"You've been WHAT?" demanded Threepio, indignant. "Artoo, I've put up with a lot of unbelievable behavior from you, but you clearly overstepped your bounds there…"

"What are you talking about?" asked Leia.

"Artoo _claims _that he's examined the Death Star plans himself," Threepio explained skeptically. "And that he has already discovered the most exploitable flaw in the Death Star's design. Though I'm really not sure what possessed him to do so – it's quite outside his programming parameters…"

"You found something?" Skywalker said brightly. "Show us what it is!"

Obediently Artoo magnified the holo, zeroing in on a section of the battle station's equilateral trench. At the base of a tower, a single fleck of red was illuminated.

"A thermal exhaust port," Obi-wan noted, and he found himself smiling. It had taken an unorthodox droid to discover what should have been glaringly obvious in the first place.

"What's a thermal… exhaust… port?" asked Skywalker, drawing out the unfamiliar words as he worked them around in his mouth.

"It allows excess heat to drain away from the station," Obi-wan replied. "Otherwise the engines would overheat and sustain damage. They're also a direct route into the power source of a starship, but often they're too small to be hit. But in the Death Star's case, the port would have to be much bigger…"

"And a direct hit to that would hit the main reactors and destroy the station!" Leia realized.

Artoo gave a triumphant bleep.

"Showoff," Threepio humphed.

_Break…_

Vader pulled his boot over his newly repaired leg and stood, striding out of his chambers and toward the bridge of the _Devastator. _Troopers and officers alike stepped aside to give him a generous berth, making every attempt possible to avoid eye contact with the Dark Lord. Since their departure from Tatooine, their superior had been in a wildly unpredictable mood, brooding silently one minute, bellowing at his subordinates in rage the next. No one had been executed yet, but neither did anyone wish to press their luck.

Upon reaching the bridge Vader stopped and clasped his hands behind his back, regarding the vast spread of the galaxy before him. His children were out there somewhere, in Obi-wan's clutches. Now, more than ever, he had to find them at all costs. If the Jedi Master had his way, he would almost certainly begin training Luke shortly, and possibly Leia too. Not only would such training make it harder to reclaim them and train them himself, but it would put prices on their heads… and a bounty hunter or another Imperial would not dare a live capture of a Jedi.

He lowered his hands to his sides, clenching his fists in rage. Obi-wan would pay for this. How dare he think himself the ultimate authority on Luke and Leia's lives? How dare he take Vader's children for himself? And how dare he turn Luke's guardianship over to the very creatures who Vader hated the most?

That last infuriated him greatly. He hated the Tusken Raiders… and yet he was now indebted to them. The Daughters of the Moons had saved his life… and Wind-Dancer's family had raised his son. That did not change the fact that they had murdered his mother, but it greatly frustrated him that his hatred toward them had now been complicated by the debts he owed them.

He vowed that, once he had his children back, he would return to Tatooine one more time and help put the Sons of the Suns out of power. Then he would be free of his obligations… and free to never return to Tatooine, or even to destroy the Tuskens once and for all.

"Sir."

Vader turned slightly to see the ship's admiral standing before him, quivering slightly in fear.

"What is it?" he demanded, annoyed at the intrusion and disgusted at the man's terror.

"The Emperor commands you to make contact with him."

He clenched his jaw beneath the mask and brushed past the admiral, stalking toward his chambers again. Not now, not when he was finally free to pursue Obi-wan and his children again! Why could things never be simple? And what did the insane dictator want this time?

He knelt before the holoprojector and lowered his head as the image of his master wavered to life. "What is thy bidding, my master?"

The Emperor drove straight to the point. "The Rebel base has been uncovered on the fourth moon of Yavin. You will meet the Death Star there and destroy any Rebels who attempt to escape the system before the moon is destroyed."

Vader growled under his breath. To be torn away from his search for his children in order to play cleanup duty for that bloated superweapon…

"You are displeased, my apprentice," Palpatine observed. "You think this assignment is beneath you? You think I should send someone else in your place while you continue your little vacation?"

"Master, I am close to obtaining Kenobi and my children," he replied. "I need more time… and surely the destruction of the Jedi and the training of my son and daughter take precedence…"

"It is not your place to determine what takes precedence, my apprentice," chided Palpatine. "Besides, you are not paying attention to the flow of logic. Obi-wan has the princess and Skywalker with him. Where do you think he will go next?"

It infuriated him to know the Emperor was right on this count, but he grudgingly admitted it anyhow. "The Rebel base."

"Exactly. You will have plenty of opportunity to capture them there and carry out the orders I have given you at the same time. Now go. The Death Star has already departed; I suggest you make haste to meet it at Yavin."

The holo faded, and Vader rose to his feet. So Obi-wan would make a Rebel of his son, would he?

_We'll see about that._

He activated a comm unit with a flick of the Force. "Proceed to the Yavin system full speed!"

_Break…_

Skywalker felt his jaw drop as he stepped out of the Falcon. So much green! So many plants! On Tatooine the suns scorched every scrap of vegetation to dust, excepting cacti and the hardiest and scraggliest brush and grasses. The only places where one saw greenery in any quantity were around the sacred springs or in the herb caverns the tribal healers and Daughters of the Moons so carefully cultivated. But here… here there was green wherever one looked. Plants far taller than any outsider building he'd ever seen, plants that layered the ground like rich rugs, plants that bore brilliantly colored flowers and fruits… even plants that grew on or around other plants, coiling around them like snakes or bristling from their branches like sprouting fur! The sheer volume and variety of vegetation around him nearly made him dizzy with wonder.

"Skywalker," Leia told him gently, "we're in a hurry."

He tore his gaze away from the verdant landscape and followed Leia. "I didn't know so many plants existed!"

She smiled. "Yavin is a wetter world than Tatooine, so it's possible for more plants to grow. When this many plants are together in one place, it's called a forest."

"Forest," he repeated, grinning broadly.

Artoo whistled cheerily as he led the way toward a massive stone building ahead. The sight of the droid wiped the grin from Skywalker's face in a hurry. Artoo may look innocuous, but the information he carried could very well save the Rebellion… and hundreds of worlds. But only if they acted in time…

An outsider man jogged out of the base, his beard and hair silver-gray with age. He spotted Leia almost at once and gave a relieved smile.

"Senator Organa," he greeted, offering her an embrace. "When we learned of Alderaan's fate, we feared the worst. We're glad to see you safe."

"This is no time to celebrate, General Dodanna," Leia told him. "The Death Star's on its way."

The man paled visibly. "This is grave news indeed. We'll have to evacuate…"

Artoo cried out in protest, rocking back and forth.

"Oh, hush, Artoo!" Threepio chided. "If they wanted our help, they would certainly ask for it…"

"Listen to Artoo!" Skywalker interrupted. "He has something to say."

Dodonna's gaze moved to Skywalker, and his brow arched. "Who is this? A new recruit? I don't recognize his accent…"

"Skywalker is from Tatooine," Obi-wan explained. "He was raised by Tusken Raiders, and so he is relatively new to our language and ways."

Dodonna's mouth quirked in an amused grin. "And you, sir?"

"Obi-wan Kenobi."

Dodonna's jaw dropped. "General Kenobi! It's an honor, sir!"

"Don't everyone jump up to introduce me at once," Han muttered.

Leia glared at the smuggler.

"This is Han Solo," Luke offered, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder. "And this is Chewbacca. He's a Wookie."

"I know what a Wookie is, son," Dodonna said kindly, nodding to Han and Chewie.

Artoo continued to babble and rock, trying to get someone's attention.

"Artoo knows how to destroy the Death Star," Skywalker told Dodonna.

"That's wonderful news," Dodonna replied, "but we haven't time to utilize that information. The Death Star will be here any time now. I would rather ensure that the Rebellion lived to fight another day than to gamble all our hopes on a suicide mission."

"You're going to do nothing?" protested Skywalker.

"Patience, Skywalker," Obi-wan advised. "The Death Star will be destroyed. We've risked and lost too much to fail that. But now is not the time."

Dodonna offered their party a hopeful expression. "If we may have your aid in evacuating the base…"

"Chewie and I aren't interested in joining your little revolution," Han cut in. "We'll just take our payment and go. We'll keep quiet about all this, but we can't promise anything else."

Dodonna sighed. "Very well. You will be compensated for your role in bringing Leia and Kenobi to us."

Skywalker watched, silently appalled, as Dodonna led Kenobi and Leia into the base and Han and Chewie headed back to the Falcon. No one was going to do anything about the Death Star? They were going to let that monster machine win? Even when the key to destroying it was standing right next to them?

He recalled all the times Weed had joked about chasing outsiders across the Dune Sea, laughing about what cowards they were and how simple it was to scare them away from their goal just by setting a few obstacles in their way. The raiders had taken advantage of outsider cowardice many times – they bragged often about looting camps and settlements for supplies as easily as taking a sweet from a child. Even the Daughters of the Moons, when using outsiders in their ceremonies, seldom feared harm from their charges – it was a rare outsider who fought back once captured.

Skywalker had thought Obi-wan, Leia, and Han would prove the tribe wrong. But had they been right all along, and outsiders were really so lacking in bravery that they fled at the first sign of danger?

Well, if cowardice was the way of the outsiders… then that would be one area where he remained firmly Tusken.

"Master Skywalker, we're being left behind…" Threepio said uneasily.

"Come on," he replied, turning on his heel and storming after Han.

"Wait!" Threepio shuffled after him, waving his arms in distress. "What are you doing? This is no time for heroics!"

Artoo gave an exasperated snort and trailed after his counterpart.

_Break…_

Han accepted the last crate from the Rebel courier and hefted it into the Falcon. Well, this would certainly appease Jabba! Apparently the Rebellion saw something in the crazy old man and spitfire princess that was beyond Han, because they obviously valued the two of them a lot if they were willing to shell out this much cash for their safe return.

Truth be told, Han wasn't all that sorry to see them go. The crazy wizard's mystic Force ramblings sounded like hocus-pocus platitudes to him, and his know-it-all attitude irritated him to no end. The princess would have been tolerable company had she lightened up a little, but she seemed determined to let Han know just how he rated next to her – which wasn't much. The kid was okay, he decided – his naiveté and curiousity were sort of a refreshing change from his usual company – but it was rather creepy to see him stare at a computer readout or alluvial damper for long stretches of time, or to hear him talking to the others in that weird mishmash of Basic and Tusken the three of them had adopted. And the droids… between Goldenrod's fussiness and the astromech fooling around with the Falcon's workings every time he turned around…

Nah, he was better off without that passenger load. Good riddance.

Chewie barked.

"Look, they obviously have things under control," Han told his co-pilot, preparing to shut the doors. "I'm not messing around in their business any more than I have to. Now let's go before Jabba hires more hitmen…"

"Han!"

He whirled to see Skywalker standing at the base of the loading ramp, panting with exertion. Behind him, the droids were hurrying to catch up. There was no sign of the others.

"Coming to say goodbye, Junior?" asked Han. "Or better yet, maybe you can come along. I'm sure you're good in a fight…"

"We have to fight the Death Star," Skywalker replied breathlessly, his gasps for air making his already stilted Basic harder to understand.

"Whoa, kid, cool the thrusters. You really think the Falcon can take on the Death Star?"

"We just have to shoot the exhaust… thing," Skywalker retorted. "One shot."

"Kid, you saw what that thing did to Alderaan," Han protested. "If it can do that, what'll it do to the Falcon?"

Skywalker flinched, but he pressed on. "What is your homeworld?"

"What?"

"Answer me."

"Corellia, why?"

"What if the Death Star destroys Corellia? What if it destroys your homeworld?"

"Kid, I don't give a stang what that thing does, so long as I'm nowhere near when it happens," he replied sharply, hitting a panel to raise the loading ramp.

"Han, please!"

"Kid, get back to the base or you're gonna get left behind when they evacuate!"

"Han…" Skywalker seemed to give up and started ranting in what must have been his native tongue but sounded more like a dog who'd gotten his tail stuck in a power coupling. Threepio muttered something in the same language before raising his electronic voice to address Han.

"Master Skywalker advises you to please heed his advice… and suggest that there may be more monetary compensation from the Rebellion if you comply."

That got Han's interest. He re-lowered the ramp. "Another reward, kid?"

Skywalker nodded. "I don't know much about outsider… credits, whatever those are. But they must be important. Maybe the Rebellion will give you more of them if you save them from the Death Star."

Han arched an eyebrow. "They'd better."

"They will," Skywalker vowed, and the expression on his face suggested he'd enforce that with the business end of a gaderffi if he had to.

Han motioned for him to enter. "Have that droid of yours show us where that blasted exhaust port is. Then let's find us a fake moon."

"Oh dear, I'm going to regret this," Threepio moaned as he followed an eager Skywalker and an ecstatic Artoo into the Falcon.


	15. Battle Won and Lost

_NOTE: I set this story aside for a time while I dealt with some "real life" issues and a bad case of writer's block, including wrangling another plot bunny with "Unexpected Rookie." I thank everyone who's been following this story for being so patient with me, and I promise you I will NEVER keep you waiting this long between updates again._

**Chapter 15 -- Battle Won... and Lost**

A young, dark-haired X-wing pilot jogged toward the open base doors where Obi-wan stood solemnly, watching for any sign of his wayward apprentice. He hesitated, then gingerly reached out and placed a hand on the Jedi's shoulder, as if afraid he would turn and snap at him. But the aged Knight only turned slightly at his touch.

"General Kenobi, we can't wait for him any longer," he told him. "And we don't have time to organize a search party. We have to leave now, before the Death Star gets in range."

"I am aware of the Death Star's approach, Antilles," Obi-wan replied quietly. "But we cannot leave without Skywalker. He is more important than you realize."

"But General..."

"Just Kenobi, or Obi-wan if you'd rather," Obi-wan corrected. "I am no longer a General."

"But Kenobi, if we don't leave now..."

"Give me a little more time," Obi-wan requested. "Please."

The young man nodded, knowing he couldn't deny a Jedi anything. "We'll let you board last, then." He clasped his arm. "I'm sure he's okay. Probably out gawking at a waterfall or something. This is a far cry from the deserts he's used to, after all."

Obi-wan almost smiled at Wedge's comment. "Alert me when the transport is ready to take off."

"Will do." The young pilot jogged off.

Obi-wan turned back to the jungle, probing with the Force, questing for any sign of his wayward apprentice. A blazing riot of life forms touched his senses, nearly blinding him. After so much time on Tatooine, a planet sparsely populated and relatively barren, Yavin was an assault on his Force sensitivity, the signatures of the many plants and creatures and fungi crowding in on his consciousness and blurring his ability to pick out an individual presence. He sighed heavily. Skywalker had certainly picked a fine time and place to run off.

"Is he okay?"

He turned to face Leia. "I'm having a difficult time locating him. The Force is strong on this planet. Give me a little longer; his presence is strong and cannot be masked for very long."

"Do you think he went with Han?"

Obi-wan sighed. "As much as I hate to consider it, that is a possibility. He has taken a great liking to the man already. Skywalker is extremely trusting, as Tuskens are not normally known for their skills in subterfuge."

She stared into the forest, lips pressed together in a thin line. "I almost wish he wasn't so... innocent. That he knew more about the galaxy at large and knew that there are times you just can't trust someone..."

"If circumstances were ideal," Obi-wan told her, "Luke would have been raised by his aunt and uncle in Anchorhead as originally planned, and he would have that experience. But this is not an ideal galaxy, and we can only make do with what we have as best we can."

"If circumstances were ideal," she retorted, "the Emperor would never have risen to power, the Republic would still rule, and the Jedi Order would still exist. If this were an ideal galaxy, this wouldn't be happening."

_If this were the ideal galaxy you are thinking of, _Obi-wan thought wearily, _you and your brother would not exist. Anakin would never have broken the Codes, would never have fallen to the dark side... and you and Luke would never have been born._

That was something he had been forced to come to terms with over his years of exile on Tatooine -- the seeming paradox of Luke and Leia's existence. On one hand, they had indirectly caused the downfall of the Jedi simply by being born. By fathering the twins, Anakin had committed a serious breach of the Codes, and his desperation to keep the children secret and protect them from harm had resulted in his fall to the dark side. And yet these same twins were also the salvation of the galaxy -- of the Jedi Order and of any chance of restoring democracy to the galaxy. Luke was the last hope of the Order, Leia the last hope of the Rebel Alliance. Their creation had sparked a firestorm that consumed the Chosen One and destroyed the Jedi Order... but their lives would restore all that had been torn down. If all went well, that was...

He paused in his thoughts as his mind brushed Skywalker's... and he suddenly found himself longing to track down Han Solo and give him a taste of righteous wrath, if such a thing existed. Skywalker was nowhere nearby -- he was no longer even on the planet!

"The transports are ready," General Dodonna told them, approaching at that moment. "We cannot wait any longer."

"We have to bring Skywalker with us," insisted Leia.

Obi-wan sighed and turned away from the doors. "It is too late, your Highness. Skywalker has gone."

"Gone?" she demanded. "Where?"

"With Han Solo."

Fear and rage warred for supremacy across her features. "That snake! Why did he take Skywalker?"

"Skywalker went willingly," Obi-wan replied. "Why I am not certain. Perhaps he had second thoughts about joining the Alliance after seeing Alderaan's destruction. Or perhaps he and Han seek to exploit the flaw Artoo discovered in the Death Star's design."

She nodded, still looking fit to wring Han's neck. "The last one makes sense. He all but ripped the Falcon's controls out of Han's hands..."

"Your Highness, Kenobi, we have to leave NOW," Dodonna insisted. "The Death Star has been sighted in this system and will be in range within the hour."

Obi-wan took Leia's arm. "We had better do as he says. This is out of our hands now. We can only trust that the Force is watching over Skywalker now."

She cast an incredibly worried look at Obi-wan before allowing him to lead her away. He wished he could say or do more to comfort her, but to tell the truth he was just as concerned as she was over this mess. Despite his upbringing, Skywalker still shared many traits with Anakin -- including Anakin's infamous impetuousness. And this was a prime example of that particular trait. He only hoped it would not be his undoing as it had been Anakin's.

_Break..._

"How you doin' there, kid?"

Skywalker jumped slightly and clapped a hand over the artifact -- a comm unit, Han had said -- strapped to his head, still not used to hearing Han's disembodied voice squawking in his ear. "I'm well. Why?"

"Got the hang of the gun controls?"

"I think so."

"Good. We're going in."

The stars spun past dizzily as the Falcon turned to face the deadly behemouth. Skywalker gripped the controls nervously, feeling the sweat pool in his gloves. This was so strange, fighting from a distance like this. He was accustomed to facing a threat face to face, gripping a weapon and feeling its impact in his palms and arms when it connected with a target. To deal death and destruction without leaving his seat was a rather weird experience, one that made the entire situation seem very unreal to him.

Upon boarding the Falcon, Han had showed Skywalker how to fire the guns and aim properly before heading for the cockpit to raise the ship. Then they had taken a brief run over the rainforest, and Han had instructed him to shoot at specific targets such as trees or boulders. After the initial scramble to become accustomed to such strange weaponry, he found himself rarely missing a target, and once Han declared him ready for bigger prey he had taken them into the heavens to face the Death Star.

"According to that bucket-of-bolts droid of yours, we're gonna have to use a missile or a torpedo," Han told him. "I'll handle that from up here, you don't have missiles back there. Just concentrate on keeping any ships off our tail, all right?"

"How will I know which ships are the enemy?" Skywalker asked. "I don't want to shoot a Rebel ship..."

"Imperial TIE fighters are generally round with flat wings that go up and down instead of to the sides," Han explained. "Shoot all of those you want. Don't shoot anything else unless it shoots at you first."

"All right."

Chewie bellowed in his ear, and he almost turned to face the Wookie before remembering the Wookie wasn't here with him but at the other set of guns. This comm line was going to take a lot of getting used to.

"Calm down, hairball, I know what I'm doing."

Chewie growled something that sounded suspiciously like "I've heard THAT before."

Something flickered at the edges of his vision, and he turned in his seat to face a gray orb flanked by the weird upright wings Han had described. The small ship bore a striking similarity to a wide-open eye, and it gave Skywalker the distinct expression that he was being stared at, maybe even gawked at.

"Whaddaya know, your first target," Han noted. "Blow 'im to dust, kid!"

Skywalker swung the controls around and pulled hard on the trigger. A spray of scarlet light fanned out across the blackness, carving a black furrow in the surface of one wing but otherwise not marking the craft. It hurtled away like a flapper who'd just been shot at -- if the ship had possessed such a thing as a tail or legs, it would have been holding the former firmly between the latter.

"Rule number one about dogfights -- aim!" Han advised. "'Spray and pray' will just get you killed!"

"It's harder when the target moves!" Skywalker retorted.

"Then try harder! More of 'em are coming in, so at least you get plenty of practice."

Even as Han spoke, three more of the fighters hove into view, this time spewing green fire of their own. He tried to get a bead on one, but they simply moved way too fast...

_Don't concentrate, just let go. _A line from Obi-wan's lectures drifted through his mind. _Trust in the Force. Let it guide you..._

Without thinking he spun and fired on a patch of empty space -- just as a fighter dashed in to occupy that empty space. His blast caught it squarely in the viewscreen, and the ship shattered into flaming pieces.

Skywalker felt a thrill of joy, and he flung back his head and released a hunting cry. He'd gotten one! He had mastered an outsider weapon and made a kill with it! He couldn't have been prouder if he had slain a krayt dragon with his bare hands.

"What happened?" demanded Han. "You all right, kid?" Evidently he didn't know a hunting cry from a scream of pain.

"I got one!" he shouted.

"Great job, but don't get cocky," Han advised.

Something seemed to nudge him at that moment, and he turned back to the gun and opened fire again. The second fighter blossomed into flame, while the third cartwheeled away minus one wing. A flash off to the side indicated its subsequent demise.

That was where he stopped paying attention to individual hits and misses, stopped being a conscious being and seemed to slip out of his body entirely. It was as if he were one with the gun, part of the gun, as cold and calculating as outsider machinery, completely serene and yet fully attentive to all that occurred around him. His arms and fingers acted independently of his mind, adjusting the guns and squeezing the triggers, watching one target vaporize before moving on to pick out the next.

Suddenly the vast open expanse of space constricted to a black stripe along the top of his vision as cold gray walls enclosed him on three sides. The Falcon had entered a metal canyon of some sort on the Death Star's surface.

"Han?"

"We're heading for that exhaust port, kid," Han told him. "Keep an eye out -- they're not going to just sit back and watch us take them out, after all."

_Break..._

"Lord Vader, we have reached the Yavin system," reported Captain Ozzel. "Several transports and at least two dozen starfighters are attempting to leave the system."

"Bring the Devastator into an Interdictor maneuver," Vader replied. "Then capture as many transports as possible. I want their occupants alive."

"The starfighters?"

"Destroy them."

"Yes, my Lord." He moved off to give orders of his own.

Vader grinned darkly beneath his mask. Soon now, very soon, his children would be in his grasp. Very soon, he would be one step closer to victory.

_Break..._

Leia stared down at her hands as the Rebel transport _Comet Rider _broke out of Yavin IV's atmosphere, willing them to stop wringing each other and failing miserably. Skywalker was gone... gone with the pirate they should have been able to trust. And Force only knew whether he would return to the Rebellion... or to her.

Obi-wan reached over the armrest that divided their seats and rested a hand on her arm. "Relax, your Highness. Your brother will return safely."

"I hope you're right," she replied softly. "I just... don't trust that smuggler... or what he might do to Skywalker..."

"Despite his outward appearance and the attitude he likes to project, Solo has a good heart," Obi-wan countered. "He means your brother no harm. And he might do Skywalker some good as well..."

Alarms sounded inside the transport, and the pilot's voice cut through the tumult with a shrill note of panic.

"Stardestroyer dead ahead! It's in Interdictor position!"

Stars, no. Large ships such as Stardestroyers were not only deadly due to their firepower -- they also possessed the ability to act as Interdictors, objects or energy fields that could fool a ship's hyperdrive into believing the ship it was directing was on collision course with a planetoid or star, causing the automatic safeties to intervene to prevent a disaster. Under most circumstances such safeguards were a blessing. Now they only spelled doom for those aboard the _Comet Rider, _for they prevented the ship from making the jump into hyperspace.

"All major officers report in!" shouted the co-pilot, possessing a slightly cooler head than his comrade.

"Senator Organa reporting!" Leia announced, unclipping her safety belts and standing.

"Jedi Master Kenobi reporting," added Obi-wan.

No one else spoke -- one small bright spot in this quandary. The officers and leaders of the Rebellion had been spread out as much as possible among the transports, ensuring that if one or two were destroyed, it would not result in the loss of their entire High Command.

"You two, get on the escape pods," ordered the co-pilot. "We'll hold their fire."

Leia wanted to protest -- she couldn't let the transport be lost just to save her own life -- but she knew what he was ordering was the only way. The Alliance had suffered heavy losses in securing the Death Star plans, including several important leaders. They couldn't risk losing another. And they could not lose Obi-wan under any circumstances. The Jedi was too valuable to the Alliance, both as an aid to the actual battle and as a boost of morale to the troops.

Knowing she was most likely sending these men to their deaths, she reached out and clasped the co-pilot's shoulder. "Thank you. Your work here will be remembered."

He nodded. "Go, your Highness. May the Force be with you."

Obi-wan took her arm and led her to the escape pods... but they never made it.

For an explosion rocked the ship, knocking the two of them off their feet. Passengers cried out in pain and terror as laser fire strafed the _Comet Rider, _reducing its engines to scrap. The transport shuddered in the invisible grip of the Stardestroyer's tractor beam, helpless as it was pulled to certain doom within the maw of the Imperial ship's hangar doors.

_Break…_

Han ground his teeth as he gripped the Falcon's controls, holding her steady as she rocketed through the trench, emerald-green cannon fire shearing past and in some cases missing by a matter of millimeters. If that thrice-blasted droid was right, the exhaust port should be in range within the next several seconds. From here it was just a matter of popping a concussion missile down the hatch and getting the stang out of the vicinity before the Death Star lived up to its name in a way its creators couldn't have imagined.

"Almost… there…" he growled, every muscle, nerve, and synapse in his body focused on the targeting computer. His hand hovered over the fire button, awaiting the critical moment. Three… two…

Skywalker chose that moment to bark in triumph as he took out another TIE, and his hand hit the fire button a moment too late. Flames rimmed the lip of the exhaust port as the missile glanced off the far edge and exploded against the plating a few meters beyond its intended target.

"Fragitall, kid!"

"Did you miss?"

"Hell yeah, I missed! Keep your mouth shut on the next run, all right?"

"Sorry." At least the kid had the decency to sound apologetic.

"Just keep us from getting our tails fried," Han snapped, bringing the Falcon up and around for another pass. TIEs swarmed in to prevent him from giving it another go, but quick work on Chewie and Skywalker's parts cleaned up that mess in a hurry.

The Falcon rocked from a cannon-fire impact, and a panel sprang open, spewing smoke and flames. Threepio cried out, and Artoo whirled and began hosing the flames down with flame-retardant foam.

"Aw Sith," Han hissed, glaring at a flashing warning light on the console. That blast had shot the targeting computer to chaos. As soon as the astromech had finished dosing the flames Han went to the still-smoking panel, struggling to jury-rig something that would allow him to target the exhaust port.

"Chewie, get up here!" he shouted. "I need you to fly this thing!"

Chewie bellowed.

"This is no time to get smart-mouthed with me, hairball! YEOW!"

"Han!" shouted Skywalker, popping into the cockpit at that moment. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Han snapped, clutching his right hand in an effort to press together the edges of the deep, jagged slash that marred his palm. "Just get back to covering us..."

Skywalker stared at the blood streaming down Han's arm, then dashed for the controls.

"Kid, what the hell..." began Han.

Skywalker ignored him, flinging himself into the pilot's chair and grabbing the controls. Han staggered as the young Tusken-man brought the Falcon into a steep dive.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"You're wounded," Skywalker replied in a low, intense voice, so different from his normal inquisitive tone that it startled the Corellian momentarily. "You can't fight with a wound. I'll fight."

Before Han could protest, Skywalker opened the throttle all the way, and the ship screamed back toward the trench.

_Break..._

"Two transports captured, Lord Vader," the Admiral reported. "We are in pursuit of a third."

"It no longer matters," Vader replied. "Destroy it and any others that attempt to leave the system."

"Yes, my lord," the Admiral replied, not questioning the change in orders. One didn't serve under the Dark Lord for any length of time without learning when to keep their opinions to themselves.

Vader gazed out the viewport, watching the ominous hulk of the Death Star approach Yavin, revolving slowly to aim its turbolaser at the unsuspecting planet. He dismissed the superweapon entirely. From this point forward it didn't matter whether the Rebellion escaped or was destroyed. Leia was aboard the second transport they had intercepted; he sensed her presence, like a candle in the darkness. And her brother was surely with her... as well as the traitorous Obi-wan, who would soon pay for all he had done...

Something nagged at the back of his mind, and he frowned. A disturbance... what could be going on? He extended the Force, questing, seeking the source...

Luke was not with Leia at all -- he was close to the Death Star, aboard a ship making a suicide run against the superweapon! Had Obi-wan put the boy up to this? Or had his Tusken upbringing driven him mad? The why of it made little difference -- he had to stop him somehow.

"Set your course for the Death Star!" Vader ordered. "Immediately!"

_Break..._

He was the Falcon.

Skywalker coiled in the chair like a hunting massif about to pounce, hands clenching around the steergrip. His eyes never left the viewscreen, straining to catch a glimpse of that elusive exhaust port. His lips were curled back over his teeth in a snarl that would have made the boldest dragon hunter shrink back. Every sense, every muscle, was attuned to his target, every ounce of strength and intellect. He was a weapon, a vessel, a part of the Falcon as surely as if he had been wired into its hardware.

As if illuminated especially for him the thermal exhaust port gleamed in his mind's eye, drawing ever closer. Something in the back of his mind counted his heartbeats, measured every passing moment, prepared to alert him when the time was right...

_Let go, Skywalker. Trust your instincts. The Force will always guide you. Trust in it, and it will never lead you wrong..._

Something flashed across his mind for the space of a heartbeat, seeming to scream one word -- _NOW!_

His hand slammed the fire button, and a streak of brilliant light burst from the Falcon's concussion missile launcher and arced gracefully into the exhaust port.

Belting out a victory howl, he wrenched on the controls, bringing the ship up and away from the Death Star.

"Don't look!" Han shouted when Skywalker turned to watch the swiftly receding sphere of the battle station. "The explosion could blind you!"

Obediently he covered his eyes. A flash of light far more intense than the noonday suns... a shudder of the Falcon beneath their feet...

And when he uncovered his face, the Death Star was gone, reduced to glowing fragments that glittered like stars in the empty space.

Han whooped and clapped Skywalker on the back with his good hand. "Great shot, kid! That was one in a million!"

Chewie charged out of the gun turret and flung his arms around Skywalker in an enthusiastic embrace, bellowing his joy. Skywalker did his best not to gag from the mass of hair suddenly pressed against his face.

"How ya feelin'?" Han asked once Chewie had let him go. "You look a little wiped out."

He pressed his hand against his forehead and found it slick with sweat, and he was suddenly aware that he was breathing hard. "That was... exciting."

"Well, it won't be an everyday experience, I hope you understand," Han told him. "World-destroying space stations aren't exactly common."

"Good," sighed Skywalker. "That means all worlds are safe again."

Something crackled in his ear. "Freighter, identify yourself!"

"Better answer, kid," Han advised.

Hesitantly Skywalker spoke into the comm. "This is Skywalker."

"Skywalker? Your friends were looking all over for you! My name's Wedge Antilles, and it's a pleasure to talk to you... but I'm getting off track. Were you the one who shot at the Death Star?"

"Yes, why?"

Wedge's victory whoop -- not quite a Tusken battle cry, but still ringing with triumph -- deafened him a moment. "Good job, Skywalker! Once we get to the rendezvous point, we're celebrating this!"

Han touched his own headpiece. "First I'm going to need coordinates for this rendezvous point, flyboy."

"Sending them as we speak."

"But why are we still fleeing?" asked Skywalker. "The Death Star can't hurt us..."

"The Empire still knows where we are," Wedge explained. "And just because they don't have a Death Star to send after us anymore doesn't mean they won't still attack."

Chewie took over the controls while Han sat down and set to bandaging his hand. Skywalker flopped onto the floor and leaned against the wall, drained but elated at his victory. What a story he had to tell the tribe now!

"Wedge," he asked over the comm line, "is Leia with you? I want to talk to her."

"She's not on my transport, sorry. I'll ask around."

Han smirked a little as he tied the bandage. "That sister of yours... she's a feisty one."

"She has a strong spirit," Skywalker agreed.

"And not bad-looking either." He quirked a grin. "What do you think -- a princess and a guy like me?"

"You mean you wish to marry her?"

"Whoa, Junior, back up a bit. I dunno how things work with the Sandpeople, but we don't rush into marriage that fast..."

Wedge's voice broke in over the comm. "Skywalker?"

"Yes, Wedge?"

"I... I don't know how to tell you this..."

Fear jolted his heart. "She's dead?"

"Not dead. Captured. Her transport was apparently taken by a Stardestroyer during the evacuation. She and Obi-wan are prisoners of the Empire now."


	16. Part Yet Apart

_NOTE: I can't remember what that thing is that keeps Obi-wan captive in Episode II is called -- the one that hangs him in midair while Dooku's talking to him -- and Wookiepedia was no help. So just to let everyone know, I'm reusing that device for this chapter._

**Chapter 16 -- Part Yet Apart**

Mothma looked up from her desk in her cramped office aboard the Home One "Yes, Antilles?"

The young pilot saluted. "Lady Mothma, the Millennium Falcon has docked with the Home One," he reported. "Skywalker's off ship and requests an audience with you."

She set aside her datapad. "Show him in."

Wedge left the room. She made some effort to straighten her desk before her visitor arrived. Already Skywalker was a hero among the Alliance for his bold, if nearly suicidal, attack against the Death Star. That auspacious introduction to the Alliance, not to mention his unusual origins as a human raised by Tatooine's Sandpeople, certainly made him the talk of the Rebellion, and already wild rumors circulated about his true identity. Mothma had heard it whispered that he was a Jedi Knight, a sorceror of some sort, a genetically altered human experiment, or even an elaborately planted Imperial spy. She had hoped to speak to General Kenobi and Princess Leia and find out the truth about their newest recruit, but now...

She forced herself to put thoughts of the Jedi General and Alderaan Senator out of her mind. The ship carrying those two had been captured by the Devastator. And if the reports that Vader was aboard the Devastator were true, that meant they were as good as dead. No Rebel captured by Vader had ever been seen or heard from again. Kenobi and Leia would be missed and mourned, but the Alliance had to continue on without them.

The door hissed open, and Wedge re-entered the study, followed by a nervous young man in a tan tunic and pants. His skin was unnaturally light, and his blond hair hung down past his shoulders, some of it straying into his sky-blue eyes. He rubbed his gloved hands together nervously as he stood before Mothma, his face radiating anxiety, fear, and grief all at once. As a politician, she was experienced at reading facial expressions, but Skywalker's face was incredibly open and expressive so anyone might know what he was thinking or feeling at any given moment. A lifetime of having his features concealed, no doubt, had deprived him of the chance to learn how to control his expressions.

"Lady Mothma," he said hesitantly, sinking to his knees and lowering his head.

"Hey, stand up, Skywalker," Wedge encouraged. "You don't need to bow here."

Skywalker looked up, puzzlement now evident in his features. "She's your chief. We bow to our chiefs." He furrowed his brow. "But we don't have female chiefs, either..."

Well, that was true in a way -- her official title was Chief of State over the Alliance. But she motioned for Skywalker to stand anyhow. "There is no need to bow, Skywalker."

He straightened. "Lady Mothma... the Black One captured my master and my sister. We must rescue them."

She thought on that statement a moment. "By the Black One, do you mean Darth Vader?"

"Yes."

So the true reason for Skywalker's joining the Alliance came out -- he wanted their aid in rescuing abducted family members. She sighed inwardly. They were truly in Skywalker's debt for destroying the Death Star, but they certainly hadn't the resources for a rescue mission, especially one of this magnitude.

"How long ago were they captured?"

"I don't know how outsiders tell time," he confessed. "It was during the fight with the Death Star. Vader took their ship."

She hadn't expected this. "When you said Master, were you referring to Obi-wan Kenobi?"

"Yes. He is teaching me how to become a Jedi."

At least one of the rumors was right, then. "What of your sister?"

"Leia. Her name is Leia."

Mothma was a politician, and thus she had years of experience in keeping her emotions in check. It was only this intense discipline that kept her jaw from dropping. How was this possible? The Royal House of Alderaan had no known link to Tatooine -- how could one of its sons have ended up there, and among the primitive tribes no less? There had to be a mistake...

"Skywalker, are you certain Princess Leia is your sister?"

"Yes," he replied. "Obi-wan told us. Our mother died giving birth to us, and the Black One -- Darth Vader -- murdered our father. Obi-wan hid us on different planets to keep us safe."

She nodded. That made sense, especially if Obi-wan had intended to train Skywalker. The Emperor periodically "cleansed" many major planets of Force-strong beings, either exterminating them or taking them to his palace for whatever diabolical purposes he intended. Concealing his future student on an Outer Rim world among the natives would have ensured his survival. His reasons for hiding Leia were less clear, but then, the Jedi were not without compassion. If he protected Skywalker, he surely felt obligated to protect Leia in the same way.

"Skywalker, what you ask of us is difficult," Mothma told him. "Vader is a powerful man, with many soldiers and starships at his disposal. The Rebellion is still relatively weak, and our resources are stretched thin. I'm sorry, but a rescue mission is going to have to wait."

Skywalker was silent, a thoughtful expression on his face as he processed what she had just told him. Then a frown creased his features. "When a member of our tribe was captured, we never hesitated to send warriors to rescue them."

"That is different, Skywalker. We're not simply dealing with an enemy tribe here, but an entire corrupt Empire..."

"No different," he challenged, his blue eyes flashing. "The Redrock Tribe, my tribe, is called weak. The Serpent Tribe is powerful and -- what word did you use? -- corrupt. Their Sons of the Suns -- their holy men -- they have great powers. Their warriors are many and strong. But when they captured members of our tribe for their sacrifices, we always rescued them." He gave her a challenging glare. "The Rebellion is a weak tribe. The Empire is a strong tribe, and the Black One is a creature of great dark power. But we can still fight them and rescue our tribe members."

"Thank you for the analogy, Skywalker, but we must be realistic..."

"Mothma, he's got a point," Wedge put in. "The Empire's not invincible. Didn't we just prove that? After all, a piece-of-junk freighter just blew up the Death Star..."

"A stroke of incredible luck," she told him.

"Mothma, please," pleaded Skywalker. "I love my sister. And there is much more I need to learn from Obi-wan."

She sighed and accepted a partial defeat. "We have agents spread throughout the Empire, some on the Imperial capitol where Vader lives. We will tell them to keep a close eye on Vader and look for any possible means that we might rescue Princess Leia and General Kenobi." She gave him a stern look. "Until then, I must ask that you don't attempt a rescue mission on your own. The Empire will be searching for you now that you have destroyed the Death Star."

His face fell. "Yes, Lady Mothma."

She motioned for him to go. "You're dismissed. Antilles, find him a place to sleep. I'm sure he's exhausted from the battle."

Wedge draped a friendly arm around Skywalker's shoulders and escorted him out of the office. General Riekkan squeezed past them to get in, and he snapped a salute toward Mothma.

"Yes, General Riekkan?"

"We've set our course for a small system on the Outer Rim," he explained. "It's known as the Hoth system. It's outside of Imperial space and surrounded by asteroid fields. We should be able to conceal our forces there, and I've already sent a scouting party ahead to search out a suitable location for a base. It'll be cold, but we'll be safe from the Empire."

"Thank you, Riekkan. How do our troops fare?"

"The Death Star's destruction has bolstered their morale considerably, though the Princess' capture has put somewhat of a damper on that. Most of them can't wait to meet Skywalker and Solo, so I hope they're prepared to be accosted."

Mothma smiled a little. "I only hope Skywalker and Solo meet the troops' expectations." She thought a minute. "Has Solo made plans to depart? Now would be the best time for him to leave, so our location is not betrayed..."

"From what I've seen, Mothma, he's taken Skywalker under his wing," Riekkan replied. "He's almost become an older brother to him. I think he's either going to take Skywalker with him when he goes... or stay here with him. I'm not sure which is his plan, though..."

"Find out, please. I don't want it to be necessary to evacuate Hoth the moment we land. Until he has made a decision, he is welcome to find quarters aboard this ship."

"I'll find him and speak to him immediately." Riekkan strode out.

_Break..._

Skywalker dragged his feet as he followed Wedge, head low, a leaden weight building in his gut. His sister and master... his only family and only link to his outsider heritage, and his friend and his only means of learning to harness his powers... gone, taken by the Black One. It wasn't enough that this monster had slain his father and was now a grave danger to his people. Now he held the lives of the two beings closest to him captive to his whims.

And the Alliance intended to do nothing to find them. Mothma had told him it was because the Alliance wasn't strong enough to fight the Black One, but he thought that a bad excuse. She was afraid. They were all afraid -- too afraid to face the Death Star or the Black One, preferring flight over a conflict. The Tuskens had been right when they had labeled outsiders as cowards. He had thought it an exaggeration before... but now he had seen evidence of their cowardice.

Wedge kept up a steady stream of chatter as he led Skywalker through the halls of the great ship. He was strikingly like Weed in that respect, Skywalker realized, chatty and friendly, though without the younger Tusken's bravado. He had to smile at that. At least not every outsider was going to treat him like a nuisance...

"It's the man of the hour!"

Skywalker jerked his head up as they entered a large chamber filled with the outsiders' frame-beds... and orange-suited outsiders who cheered loudly upon their entrance. Most of them were human and male, though a few appeared to be female and there were a handful of some sort of aliens in the mix. And all were applauding and shouting approval, exultant looks on their faces.

"They like you," Skywalker noted, turning to Wedge. "You must have a lot of friends..."

Wedge laughed. "Don't be so modest, Skywalker. They're cheering for YOU!"

"Me?"

"Hail to the conquering hero!" one of the young men shouted, and he abruptly grabbed Skywalker's hands and spun him around excitedly. Skywalker broke free and staggered dizzily away, only to land in the arms of a woman with gray skin and what appeared to be tails sprouting from her scalp instead of hair. The strange woman grinned broadly and planted a kiss on his cheek before passing him on to the next outsider, who clapped him heartily on the shoulder before letting someone else have at him. Over and over Skywalker felt himself embraced, slapped good-naturedly, kissed, and generally greeted and celebrated until his head spun with confusion.

At last Wedge came to his rescue, plucking him out of the seething mass of jubilation and brushing his clothes off. "You okay?"

"What happened?" he asked, stunned.

Wedge turned him to face the crowd. "Members of Rogue Squadron, I present to you the hero of the Battle of Yavin -- and our newest pilot courtesy of Lady Mothma -- Luke Skywalker!"

The crowd roared.

"Let's hear a few words from the hero!" demanded a red-headed man with a patch over one eye, raising a mug.

Wedge grinned at Skywalker. "Tell us about yourself, Skywalker." He slapped his arm and stepped away from him.

"Uh..." he began, staring at the outsider faces that gazed eagerly at him, as if he were the chief of the tribe about to deliver important news. "My name... my name is Luke Skywalker... but I prefer just Skywalker..."

"Hello, Just Skywalker!" someone in the back shouted, and the crowd burst into laughter, which did nothing to help calm his nerves.

"No, just call me Skywalker," he corrected. "Um... I'm a member of the Redrock Tribe of Tatooine... and my calling is... was... Son of the Suns..."

"That some kind of merc guild?" asked the gray-skinned woman.

"No, it is a calling among the Sandpeople..."

That started off a round of excited whispers, and he wished he hadn't said a word about his Tusken past.

"You're a Tusken?" asked the red-head. "Always wondered what those things looked like under the wrappin'..."

"No, I'm outsider... I mean human... but I was raised by the Tuskens..."

"Likely story," muttered a scruffy-looking man in the back, taking a long pull from a flask.

"It's true!" he retorted.

"Hey, we believe you, Skywalker," Wedge told him. "Don't bite our heads off."

"I wasn't biting," Skywalker protested.

"I meant... never mind." Wedge stepped forward again and took his arm. "Skywalker's had a long day. I'd say he needs his sleep. Everyone shove aside."

The crowd parted as Wedge led Skywalker through the chamber and toward one of the frame beds. The blankets were neatly arranged, and a fat cushion sat at one end of the bed, probably to rest his head on. It looked a little shabby, but at least it would be more comfortable than a hard bunk on the Falcon. Wedge bent over and hauled a large metal trunk out from under the bed, opening it and digging through its contents.

"You can have Tank's old bunk -- it's been empty since the bastard defected. Left most of his gear behind, you're welcome to whatever you want out of it." He tossed an orange suit identical to the ones the others wore onto the bed. "That should fit you. Did you bring anything you want to pack up? There's room in here?"

"I have nothing but my weapons," Skywalker replied, and he unclipped the saber from his belt and unslung the gaderffi from his back. He laid both of these items on the bed.

"Hey, can I have a look at that?" A young man with black hair and mustache appeared at Skywalker's elbow.

"The lightsaber?" asked Skywalker.

"No, that gaffi stick," he replied. "I'm from Tatooine, but I've never seen a Tusken up close, let alone their weapons. Don't worry, I'll give it right back."

Hesitantly Skywalker took the gaderffi and handed it to the man. He studied it a moment, testing the edges with a thumb and twisting the grip, then handed it back with an appreciative whistle.

"That thing looks like it packs a punch," he noted. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

Skywalker shook his head. "I've never used it in battle. Not even to hunt. And I won't hurt an outsider... I mean a human with it."

"That's good to know." He extended a hand. "My name is Biggs. Biggs Darklighter."

"Hello, Biggs," Skywalker greeted, clasping his hand. "Suns watch over you."

"Come again?"

He silently cursed himself. "Sorry. We say that among the Tuskens."

"Don't be sorry. I've wanted to learn about Tuskens for a long time." He smiled broadly. "How about a deal, Skywalker? You teach me about Sandpeople, and I'll teach you about human life."

Skywalker nodded. "We have a deal. I swear by the Sky-Father and Earth-Mother."

Biggs laughed. "I guess you mean it, then."

"Hey Biggs, you can grill him for more information later," Wedge chided. "Our hero needs his sleep."

"Yes sir!" Biggs mock-saluted, then strode away laughing.

Skywalker grinned. "I like him."

"Most people do," Wedge replied. "He's a good man. I'll leave you alone now -- you've had a long day."

"Wedge... thank you."

"No problem. The rest of the pilots are probably going to be celebrating for the rest of the song. If their partying keeps you up, feel free to get that gaffi out and kick a little butt." He squeezed his arm. "Good night, Skywalker."

"Good night, Wedge." He pulled the covers back and climbed into the bed.

"Oh, and Skywalker?"

"What?"

"You probably shouldn't sleep in your boots."

He pulled the footgear off, then lay down and pulled the covers over his head.

Contrary to what Wedge had warned him, however, it wasn't the revels of the other Rebels that kept him from dropping off -- it was the worry and fear that had gnawed at him since learning of Leia and Obi-wan's capture. What would the Black One do to them? Kill them? Torture them? Force them to help him defeat the Rebellion? How was Leia faring? Was she frightened? Hurt? Did she think he was dead? What of Obi-wan? Had Vader killed him already? Were they expecting rescue, or had they given up hope?

He wished he could contact them somehow, if only to put his fears to rest. If he could just know how they were doing, know that they were alive...

Finally, physically and emotionally exhausted, he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

_Break..._

The Devastator limped toward the Imperial shipyard in orbit around Lirak, half its sublight engines shredded from the debris of the exploding Death Star, an ugly wound gaping on its port side. It would take weeks for the damage to be repaired, not to mention time to replace the crew members and officers who had been killed on impact. The troops and crew of the Stardestroyer had suffered a grievous blow as well -- to their morale. Not only had the Empire lost its superweapon, but the Rebellion had escaped them yet again. To most of the Imperials, it was a terrible blow and a terrible day.

But Darth Vader was of a different mind.

While Captain Ozzel bickered viciously with the technician who was delivering a summary of the repairs needed, Vader took his leave from the bridge, striding toward the cell blocks with a determined, almost eager stride. The Rebel prisoners had already been sorted out and appropriately dealt with, the higher-ranking or particularly notorious Rebels locked away for further questioning and the rest executed on the spot. Two in particular, however, had received special treatment on Vader's orders...

None of the guards questioned his presence or made any move to stop him as he passed through the cell block, striding toward a particular cell as if drawn there by a magnet. He keyed open the door and stepped inside.

Obi-wan hung suspended in midair, a web of blue energy surrounding and suffusing his body and casting the entire room in an eerie light. The energy field not only held the Jedi captive, unable to move, but it infiltrated his entire body and prevented him from drawing on the Force. He was totally helpless before the Dark Lord... and he knew it.

Vader closed the cell doors behind him and stepped forward to address his former master.

"We meet again," he rumbled, unable to keep a tone of deep satisfaction out of his voice. "The circle is now complete. When I left you I was but the learner... but now I am the master."

"Only a master of evil, Darth," Obi-wan replied calmly.

"So it is Darth now," he noted, circling the paralyzed Jedi. "You do not recognize the apprentice you left for dead on Mustafar?"

"My apprentice died on Mustafar," the Jedi retorted, his face expressionless. "You killed him, Darth Vader. You destroyed Anakin Skywalker when you embraced the dark side, choosing its power over all that was good..."

"You think I did this for power?" he snarled, continuing to pace. "I did this for _her. _I loved her. And the Jedi would not help me save her. They would have let her -- and our children -- die rather than bend the Codes."

"You saved nothing, Vader. You only accelerated the damage. Padme died anyhow..."

"And then you stole my children from me," he snarled. "Stole them and hid them from me. For years I believed them dead. Then I find out that not only did you take them from me, but you left one in the care of monsters!"

"It was not my intention to place Luke with the Sandpeople," Obi-wan replied. "The Force intervened, and I could only obey its commands." He met Vader's gaze. "I had to protect them... from you. I had to ensure they would not be used for the dark side's ends. And if it meant hiding them from you... so be it."

Vader gestured, and the energy field suspending Obi-wan switched off. He hit the ground and crumpled in a heap, stunned. Before he could gather his wits Vader had him by the throat and was holding him aloft, shaking him brutally.

"You took everything I loved from me!" he raged. "You turned Padme against me! You turned my daughter against me! You let the beasts who killed my mother raise my son! You deluded him into joining your Jedi Order! You will pay for all you have taken from me!"

And he flung his old master at the wall, watching him hit the durasteel and slide to the floor. He drew his lightsaber and raised it high.

Obi-wan's eyes met his, and they flashed with triumph as the blade swooped down in a deadly red arc.

He raised the weapon to strike again... and stopped himself short. Obi-wan was gone. His charred robes lay at Vader's feet, but the body had seemingly evaporated. He prodded at the shabby robes with his foot, wondering if this wasn't some sort of trick.

_Blast him! What has he got up his sleeve this time?_

_Break..._

Skywalker shot upright with a cry, his skin slick with sweat, his stomach churning. Every nerve in his body screamed in pain, every centimeter of his skin crawled and prickled... his chest burned as if part of it had been carved out...

_Obi-wan!_

"Skywalker!" Hands grabbed his shoulders. "Skywalker, are you all right?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but his stomach chose that moment to rebel, and he retched violently. Someone slapped his back and murmured comfort while another voice ordered everyone to go back to bed.

"What's up with the Tusken wannabe?"

"Everyone back off, this isn't a sideshow!"

"He's not contagious, is he?"

"Go get the med droid, Biggs, I think he's sick..."

"Obi-wan..." Skywalker moaned between gagging and gasping for breath. "He's... he..."

"What do you mean?" It was Wedge's voice, anxious and concerned. "What about Obi-wan?"

"He's gone..." he choked. "I felt... I felt something happen to him... something horrible..."

"Stang it." Arms encircled him. "It's all right, Skywalker. It's all right..."

He buried his face in Wedge's shoulder and wept.


	17. Truth Revealed

**Chapter 17 -- Truth Revealed**

Leia shot bolt upright, sweat glistening on her skin, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Pain flooded her nerves, her stomach churned... suffering filled her, fear and grief, confusion and wrenching loss...

She glanced about, disoriented. Where was she? The last thing she recalled were stormtroopers boarding the _Comet Rider, _of laser fire exchanged, of Obi-wan interposing himself between her and the attackers, taking the stun blasts meant for her... of a bone-chilling darkness invading her senses as a black cloaked form stepped aboard the transport...

This wasn't right. She should be in a cell right now, awaiting some of Vader's infamous interrogation. Instead, she lay on a bed covered in shimmersilk blankets, in a softly illuminated chamber tastefully decorated with Naboo-style wooden furniture and holos of artwork from around the galaxy. It was unexpectedly comfortable and welcoming, and had circumstances been different she would have assumed this was an apartment on Corusant. She doubted that, however, and assumed she was still aboard the _Devastator, _in a suite reserved for an officer's wife or a visiting dignitary.

She shook off the last of that sudden wave of pain and fear and slid off the bed, going to the door. It was locked securely from the outside. So this was a prison cell after all -- a cozy prison cell, but a cell nonetheless.

With a shaky sigh she reached up and rubbed her face, as if wishing she could scrub away the memories of her capture. Skywalker must be worried sick about her and Obi-wan right now. She longed to be able to contact him, to assure him she was all right. Stars, he was still so inexperienced, so ignorant of the ways of the galaxy. How was he going to survive without her and Obi-wan to guide him? She wasn't confident in Solo's abilities to educate him, and the Alliance had their hands overfull as it was without having to take the time to teach their newest soldier the basics of human life...

The door suddenly hissed open, and she stepped back involuntarily. Darth Vader filled the doorframe, his ebon armor gleaming, his breath hissing malevolently. An aura of dark power emnated from him like dark illumination from a black star, filling the entire room with its cold energies, chilling her to the very bones. He seemed to entrap her with his gaze, holding her to the spot that he might study her all the better. Despite all her efforts to maintain control over her fear, she couldn't help but shudder under his scrutiny.

"Princess Leia," he intoned, his voice resonating with power and foreboding. "At last we meet." He stepped into the chamber, and the doors rasped shut behind him.

"Lord Vader," she replied, somehow managing to keep her voice even. "I should have recognized your foul stench when I first came aboard."

An electronic chuckle was her reply. "Charming to the last."

He strode past her and toward the room's circular viewport, clasping his hands behind his back as he studied the starscape outside. She glowered at the back of his domed helmet, wondering what point he was trying to get across by turning his back to her. Was it a gesture of arrogance, sending the message that even with his guard down he outmatched her? Or was he trying to earn her trust, to show her she had nothing to fear by showing he wasn't expecting an attack or a fight of any sort? At any rate, he hadn't threatened her yet...

"You have grown much since I last saw you," he noted, turning slightly.

"I highly doubt you pursued me halfway across the galaxy to see how I'd matured," she retorted.

"If you only knew, your Highness."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Your possession of the Death Star plans meant nothing to me," he replied, turning to face her. "They were merely a convenient excuse to find you. It was you, Princess, that I sought."

A sickening weight filled her gut at that statement. He couldn't mean that, could he? He had never expressed interest in her before, not at the many Imperial functions where their paths had however briefly crossed. Indeed, he had never given any impression that he sought a wife or companion -- quite unlike most of the highest-ranking Imperials, who often boasted multiple lovers and consorts as well as obvious trophy wives. Even the sleaziest tabloids, who were audacious enough to claim the Emperor himself had kept secret Jedi wives on a prison world on the Outer Rim, hadn't touched Vader in their sordid search for rumored pairings.

He raised his hand and reached for her, but she backed away, her gorge rising.

"Come here," he ordered.

"Don't touch me," she hissed.

"I have no intention of violating you in any way, Princess," he replied. "It is the furthest thing from my mind."

"Then why have you brought me here?" she demanded. "What do you want of me? If you think I'm going to betray the Alliance for you, you're stupider than I thought!"

"I have come to tell you the truth, your Highness. The truth that has been hidden from you since your infancy."

"You wouldn't know the truth if it sat on you," she retorted.

She could tell he dearly wanted to strike at her for that remark, but he restrained himself with effort. "Obi-wan and Bail Organa never told you what happened to your father. Your true father."

"You killed him!" she shot back. "You murdered my father!"

Vader bristled visibly at that remark. She couldn't hide a triumphant smirk. _For one who speaks of revealing the truth, you seem to have an aversion to it..._

"No, Princess," he replied, a strange satisfaction lacing his words. "_I _am your father."

Leia stared at him, shock draining her mind of any coherent thought. No... it couldn't be...

"Search your feelings," he continued. "You know it to be true."

She shook her head, backing away from him until she felt the cold metal of the wall at her back. He lied. He lied! Her father couldn't be this monster! Her father was a Jedi Knight, Obi-wan's student, a powerful and noble warrior... not this mad beast of darkness that fed on and destroyed all he touched, who bore the blood of thousands on his blade and hands...

"Leia," he murmured, closing the distance between them. One black-sheathed hand reached up to touch the side of her face. "Your mother, Padme... she would have been proud of you. You look just like her."

_Padme... _how did he know her mother's name? She had only the faintest memories of her; Bail had told her she had died when she was very young. But somehow her name and face had been emblazoned upon her memory like a brand, as familiar as if she had seen her every day of her childhood. A face full of beauty, nobility, kindness... and yet an unfathomable sadness as well. But only she and Bail knew of Leia's connection to her. How could this demon know... unless...

"No," she moaned, turning away from him, tears filling her eyes. "Please..."

"You are my daughter," he said firmly. "You can no longer deny it. Padme Amidala was your mother... and my wife. You and your brother were taken from me by the Jedi after her death. All these years I have sought you..."

"Stop!" Her fists struck his chest, bruising against the steel armor and control panel, though she hardly noticed the pain. "Just stop! You can't be my father! I can't be your daughter... I just can't..."

He caught her wrists in his hands. She struggled against his grip, but he held her fast. Screaming, she lashed out with her feet, kicking his legs ineffectually, calling him every foul name she had ever picked up -- and she had learned a great deal of them in her tenure as a Senator. Vader simply took the punishment, not giving any sign that he felt any pain at her struggles or outrage at her insults.

At last she hung limply in his grip, totally drained by her anger and emotional turmoil, sobbing quietly. Only then did he release her wrists, placing one hand on her shoulder and taking her chin in the other, forcing her to look at him.

"You are my daughter," he repeated. "You share my blood. You know this. Obi-wan can no longer conceal it from you. Bail can no longer hide it from you. And you cannot lie to yourself. Accept this. Accept that you are my child, my heir. Only then will the conflict within you cease."

She tried to break free of his grip, but he held her fast. "Leia, there is so much I can share with you. You have the Force with you, and it burns brightly in your soul. With my guidance, you can mold those powers, master them. You can stand by my side as my equal."

He took her shoulders in both hands and turned her toward the window, where the infiniteness of space gleamed back at her. "The Emperor is weakening. The Alliance knows this -- why else have they grown bolder in their attacks? Together, we can overthrow him. Together, with our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to the galaxy. We can rule together, as father and daughter."

With a wrench she broke free, and she whirled to face him. "I'll never join you!" she screamed. "Never!"

"Never is a long time, Leia," he replied with a knowing tilt of his head.

The doors hissed open, and he turned to go. "I will give you time to consider my offer... and to accept the truth. When we have reached Corusant, I will expect a decision, my daughter."

The moment the doors closed behind him, she collapsed on the bed and broke down into tears.

_Skywalker... Skywalker, I pray you never find out... if this hurts me, it will break you..._

_Break..._

Skywalker supposed it was morning now. With no sun overhead to judge the time, he couldn't be certain. But the other Rebels in this room -- who he had come to learn were a group of pilots who called themselves Rogue Squadron -- insisted it was dawn and time to wake up, so he could only take their word for it.

Like the Tusken encampment, the Rebels had a communal dining area, where everyone collected their morning rations and exchanged small talk as they ate. That similarity comforted him, and he took his tray to a corner table where he could be alone in his thoughts. The contents of the tray were unfamiliar to him -- where the Tusken's fare was limited to meat, flat bread, cactus fruit, and occasionally herbs and fungi collected from the caves, the outsiders had a dizzying array of foodstuffs available to them, and of the meals he had taken in the company of Han and the Rebels, no two of them had ever been alike. At the moment, however, he didn't care what lay on his plate. For all he cared, he could have been shoveling sand into his mouth and not noticed.

Obi-wan was dead. He knew that as surely as he knew the suns shone over Tatooine. He had no way to prove it to the Rebels -- indeed, many of them thought he was crazy for claiming he had felt the old Jedi die. But that mattered little to him. All that mattered was that he had lost his guide and mentor, his Jedi Master. He was alone in a vast, unfamiliar galaxy, bereft of the two people he had come to rely on the most... and one was now out of his grasp forever.

"Hey kid!"

He glanced up, startled. "Han?"

Han plonked a tray down on the table and sat down across from Skywalker. "Don't look so happy to see me, kid."

Chewie sat down beside Skywalker, his own tray piled high with slabs of raw meat. He gave Skywalker a friendly growl and a pat on the shoulder before applying himself to his own breakfast.

"I thought you had left the Alliance," Skywalker said, feeling his spirits rise a little.

"Well, we kind of figured that you were going to need someone to show you the ropes, so to speak," Han replied, picking up an eating utensil and prodding at his food. "So we'll stick around until we're sure you can fend for yourself here." He impaled something with the utensil and held it up, scrutinizing it carefully. "Ugh. They could use some help with their supplies here. I've seen better grub in jail cells."

Chewie gave a "You would know" sort of growl.

Skywalker picked up one of the utensils he'd been given with his tray, feeling his mouth curl in a small smile. "It's a spoon."

Han smirked. "Congratulations for identifying it, kid."

Skywalker glared at him. He might be a naive Tusken, but he knew sarcasm when he heard it. But he found he couldn't be angry with the man for long.

"The first time I went near an outsider home was for a dare," he went on, twirling the spoon in his fingers. "I was to bring back an outsider tool. The first thing I found was a spoon." He poked around his tray a little, chasing a lump of some kind of fruit across the tray with his spoon. "I did not know what it was at first. I even wore it as a trophy for a few days."

Han made the mistake of laughing through a mouthful of whatever he was drinking, and dark brown liquid stained his tunic as he sputtered and choked. Once he'd caught his breath, he kept right on laughing. "I can just see that... oh man... sorry kid, but..."

"Go on and laugh," Skywalker told him without anger. "It's funny now."

"Hey Skywalker," Wedge greeted, coming over to sit next to him. "Who's your friends?"

"This is Han Solo, and this is Chewbacca," Skywalker introduced. "They helped me destroy the Death Star."

"So the Alliance has three heroes now!" grinned Biggs, coming to sit beside Han. "I have to admit, what you three did took some real guts."

Skywalker shrugged. "I didn't do anything special. Just what needed done."

"Uh... yeah... what the kid said," Han added, shooting Skywalker a "tell-and-I'll-kill-you" look. Evidently he didn't want it flouted around the Rebels that he'd only agreed to help when promised a bigger reward.

"Still, not many would have done the same in your position," Wedge pointed out. "You must have a lot of piloting experience."

Skywalker shook his head. "I lived with Tuskens all my life. I have only flown a ship twice."

Wedge's jaw dropped. Biggs gave a whistle of appreciation.

"What can I say?" Han grinned. "I'm a pretty efficient teacher."

Chewie rolled his eyes with a growl.

"Please tell me you're sticking around awhile," Wedge said, a pleading note in his voice. "We need all the good pilots we can get, and you're obviously a natural."

"I wish I could," Skywalker replied, "but I have a mission."

"A mission?" Biggs repeated, arching an eyebrow. "What kind of mission?"

"My people... the Tuskens that raised me are in danger. The Black One, who you call Darth Vader, has killed members of the tribe. I was chosen to find him and defeat him, that he may no longer be a danger to the tribe."

Biggs whistled again. "They sent you on a suicide mission, kid! Vader's pretty close to invincible!"

"I was to learn how to defeat him from Obi-wan," Skywalker explained. "But..."

"Now that he's dead, that's impossible," Wedge finished for him -- at least he had believed Luke's story. "I wish we could help you out there, Skywalker, but none of us know anything about the Jedi ways. The Empire likes to pretend they never even existed."

Skywalker set his spoon down. "Then I stay with the Alliance. If you fight the Empire, you also fight the Black One. If I help you defeat the Empire, perhaps we can defeat the Black One at the same time." He looked each of them in the eye. "And perhaps we can rescue Leia from the Black One."

Biggs grinned. "I like this kid more every minute. We need more gung-ho types in the Alliance."

Han stood, picking up his tray. "You three can keep discussing how you're going to single-handedly overthrow the Empire. Chewie and I are going to be working on the Falcon." He turned to leave, then stopped and addressed Skywalker again. "Mind if I borrow the droids awhile? I'll need Threepio to talk to the hyperdrive and see if there's any glitches."

"He can talk to ships?"

"Protocol droids like your Threepio can understand the codes and programming of computers," Wedge explained. "So yes, in a sense, he can talk to ships."

"Oh. Well, okay, they can help you."

"Thanks." He left.

"So Skywalker," said Biggs, leaning forward, "about our deal we cut last night?"

"Oh, the deal," recalled Skywalker. "What do you want to know about Tuskens?"

"Everything, eventually," Biggs replied with an eager grin. "But let's start with the calling. Last night you said something about your calling being Son of the Suns. What's that supposed to mean?"

"The Tuskens believe the suns and moons of Tatooine are alive," Skywalker replied. "Many years ago, the legends say, the Sky-Father and the Earth-Mother fell in love and created the suns and moons as their children -- Beggar's Canyon is supposedly the place where the Sky-Father split the Earth-Mother open to help her give birth. Since then the suns and moons have ruled over the Tuskens, granting blessings, ruling out punishment, and providing protection from the demons of the dark. The suns and moons also choose callings for the young Tuskens who become adults, choosing their paths for life. The hunters, the warriors, the weavers, the healers, even the chief himself are chosen for their callings."

"So what kind of calling is Son of the Suns?"

"That of a holy man. The Sons of the Suns are said to be able to see the future. It is they who select callings for young Tuskens."

"So you're a holy man for the tribe?"

"Yes... and no." He struggled with how to word this. "The Sons of the Suns wanted me as one of their own... but the Black One attacked, and one of the Sons had a vision in which I was supposed to defeat the Black One. So the chief gave me the name of the Sons but told me I would not be bound by their laws. I am my own law... until I defeat Vader."

Wedge shook his head. "It sounds like a pretty archaic system to me."

"Archaic?"

"Outdated, old-fashioned," Biggs clarified.

"But it is tradition," Skywalker countered. "And it works."

"But what if you're called to be something you don't want to be? What if a Tusken who hates fighting is made a warrior? Or the Tusken they choose to be your chief turns out to be completely wrong for the job?"

"One doesn't question the suns," Skywalker defended. "You simply do the best with what they give you."

"Suddenly I'm glad I'm not Tusken," Biggs noted. "I'd rather choose my own future, no offense meant."

Skywalker wanted to defend his people's ways, but he knew it would be useless. The humans were as dead set in their ways as the Tuskens were set in theirs. And each considered their way to be the best, if not the only, way. For the first time, Skywalker began to understand a little of the millennia-old conflict between their races.


	18. World of White

**Chapter 18 -- World of White**

"Skywalker..."

Skywalker moaned and rolled over, grabbing a pillow and squashing it over his head in an effort to block out the voice. Why did these Rebels like to get up so blasted early every morning? It wasn't enough that the pilots had kept him up until the small hours of the morning on the machine they liked to call the "flight simulator," they had to haul him out of the dark comfort of sleep at some spirit-forsaken hour...

"Skywalker..."

He muttered something noncommittal and burrowed deeper into the bed coverings. Wouldn't they give up? And who was talking anyhow? It wasn't Wedge or Biggs or Han, it sounded too old... Dodanna or Reikkan, maybe?

"Skywalker!"

He yanked the pillow off his head and sat up to throw it at the intruder -- and froze, the pillow falling from his grip.

"Obi-wan?"

The old Jedi gave a small smile at Skywalker's voice.

"Obi-wan!" he cried. He was alive! His mentor lived and had somehow escaped Vader's clutches! He was no longer alone in his quest to defeat the Black One -- he had Obi-wan to teach him the ways of the Force and guide him on the path...

"Quiet, Skywalker," Obi-wan advised. "You'll wake the others. And I haven't much time."

His voice... it had an odd quality, as if he were speaking in a large cavern. And why was he glowing? A trick of the Force? The longer he looked at Obi-wan, he realized, the stranger he looked. He shone in the dim of the barracks with a cool light, light that didn't seem to illuminate or reflect off of anything else but simply enfolded the Jedi as if it were a second skin. He cast no shadow, and though he didn't appear to be floating, nor did his feet seem to come in contact with the floor. And he was translucent, like the wing of a flapper when held up to the sunlight. For a moment he wondered if this was some sort of holographic trick of the Rogues, but even they wouldn't be so cruel...

Then it hit him. "You're a spirit?"

Obi-wan nodded. "I am one with the Force now... but I have returned to advise you."

"You can still teach me?"

"No, Skywalker. I cannot instruct you adequately in this state. You must learn from another."

His newly sprouted hope withered. "But I thought you were the last..."

"The Jedi scattered throughout the galaxy when the Emperor ordered their destruction. Many were destroyed, but a few live on. Among them is Master Yoda, one of the most revered of the Jedi Council and a cunning warrior in his day." He nodded at Skywalker. "You must go to the Dagobah system. There you will find Master Yoda... and learn from him. He will finish what I began."

Skywalker nodded. "Dagobah system... Master Yoda... I'll remember."

"May the Force be with you," Obi-wan bade him, then began to fade.

"Wait!" Skywalker cried. "Don't go!" There was so much he wanted to ask of the old Master, so much he wanted to say...

"Shut the stang up over there," grumbled someone in the next bunk over.

He turned his head slightly to address the speaker. "Sorry."

"Go to sleep already," came the reply, and the sheets rustled as the speaker tried to get comfortable again.

Skywalker turned back to where Obi-wan had been standing... but he was gone, faded away like a desert heat-vision.

But his advice was still firmly branded in Skywalker's mind -- _Dagobah... Master Yoda... finish what I began..._

_Break..._

Flight simulations were normally dreaded by the pilots of Rogue Squadron. True, they helped keep the pilots battle-ready and their skills sharpened; they couldn't afford having the Squadron lose their edge between battles. But flight sims couldn't begin to compare to the thrill of true combat, the pitch and roll of the starfighter beneath you, the shudder of a close miss and the scream of the engines thrusting you forward, the insane inexplicable euphoria of living entirely for the moment, not knowing whether or not you would end up an expanding cloud of superheated gas and shrapnel in the next instant. There was just no way to replicate all that, and the simulator could only do so much. Even so, most pilots swallowed their complaints, strapped themselves in, and got on with it as if it were just another chore.

The past few days, however, the simulator had become the new form of entertainment. Or rather, a combination of the simulator and a certain Outer-Rim pilot.

"All right, nice shot!" cheered Janson, pumping his fist in the air as if he had squeezed off the shot instead of Skywalker.

"That's forty-five in a row," Hobbie chimed in, looking up from a datapad. "He's getting close to the record."

"What record?" asked Biggs.

"Most hits in a row," Hobbie replied. "This kid almost never misses, man. It's like he was born to fly." He shook his head. "And you still say he was raised as a Tusken?"

"He knows way too much about their lifestyle to be lying about that," Biggs replied. "Besides, you've seen how he acts and heard how he talks. Basic is hard for him. And he hates having his face and hands exposed -- comes from living under a mask all his life."

Hobbie nodded, quickly marking another point as Skywalker made another "kill" on the flight sim. "Which is why he wears his helmet a lot, even outside the sim. Still doesn't explain how he knows how to shoot and fly like an Academy student -- I won't say a pro, because he's got a ways to go still, but even ANY skill..."

"Some people are natural-born singers," Biggs pointed out. "Some are gifted dancers or artists or writers, others have a knack with animals or machines, others have intuitive gifts with people who are hurt or upset. Skywalker is a natural-born pilot -- he probably has quick reflexes and sharp eyes and other attributes that help him out there. He just hasn't had a chance to use those attributes until now. Or at least use them in a flying situation."

"Makes you wonder how many other natural-born pilots there are that haven't been discovered just because they haven't had the chance to sit in a pilot's seat," Hobbie mused.

A throaty cry rang through the air as Skywalker flung his hands up in triumph, and the other Rogues mimicked his Tusken battle call and pounded his shoulders in congratulations. Obviously the simulation had ended, no doubt with high marks for the young pilot.

"Antilles, you're next," ordered Commander Ackbar, waving Skywalker away with a webbed hand. "Hopefully you've learned something from watching Skywalker at work."

"Sir, no one can compare to Skywalker," Wedge rejoined with a grin as he hopped into the simulator.

Skywalker walked over to join Biggs, his gaze straying toward Ackbar despite all his efforts to not stare. "What sort of alien is he?" he asked.

"Ackbar's a Mon Calamari," Biggs explained. "They come from a planet that's almost entirely water, which is why he looks so much like a fish."

Skywalker cocked his head. "What's a fish?"

"You're kidding, right?" asked Hobbie. "You don't know what a fish is?"

"It's not like a desert world has a lot of aquatic life," Biggs retorted. To Skywalker he explained: "Fish live in the water. They breathe water like we breathe air. Mon Calamari can breathe water or air, so even though he's at home in the water, Commander Ackbar can still get around on land."

Skywalker wore a thoughtful expression as he digested this information. "Animals that live in water... sands, am I going to have some stories for the tribe when I return home."

Biggs laughed. "I'm sure Ackbar will be able to give you even more stories to take back to Tatooine. He used to be the servant -- well, slave is more like it -- of one of the Imperial leaders in charge of the Death Star, but he escaped and joined the Alliance. Now he's Commander of Rogue Squadron and will probably make it all the way up to Admiral one of these days."

"Admiral... that's like a chief, right?"

"Sort of. Chief of all the starships of the Alliance, anyhow."

Skywalker nodded in understanding. "I still have much to learn, I see."

"Don't worry, we'll teach you." Hobbie motioned down the hall. "We arrived at the Hoth system this morning, so sometime today a bunch of us are going planetside to search out a good location for the new base. Maybe you'd like to come with us?"

"You mean to see another planet? Of course!"

"Um, are you sure that's a good idea?" asked Biggs.

"C'mon, what can go wrong?" Hobbie replied.

"Didn't you read the terrain report?"

"You know I don't look at that stuff. It's dull."

"I did, and Hoth's an iceball. Literally. The whole planet's one big glacier, practically."

"What's a glacier?" asked Skywalker.

"A sheet of ice." When that got him a blank look, Biggs tried to explain further. "Ice... um... hard water. When water gets too cold, it turns solid. Hoth is cold, so it's covered in ice."

"Water doesn't get hard," Skywalker retorted. "It gets cold on Tatooine at night, but water stays water."

"That's because temperatures don't get THAT cold on Tatooine. It has to be VERY cold for ice to form. Trust me, if Hoth's that cold, you probably don't want to go planetside."

"But I want to. I've never seen ice before." He turned to Hobbie. "I'll go to Hoth with you."

"All right!" whooped Hobbie. "Dress warmly, don't want to haul a Tusken-sicle back to the Home One." He strolled away.

Wedge came up at that moment, wiping his brow. "Stang, Skywalker, you make it look so easy..." He caught the expression on Biggs' face and frowned. "Something up?"

"Hobbie wants Skywalker to go down to the planet with him," Biggs explained.

"So?"

"So I don't think it's smart. You know I lived on Tatooine, and remember how I almost froze to death when that huge rainstorm hit on Dantooine? I wasn't used to it being cold and wet, and I doubt Skywalker's going to be either..."

"Biggs, we can't protect him from everything," Wedge interrupted. "He's going to have to learn to adapt to whatever world the Alliance seeks refuge on. We'll just keep an eye on him so he doesn't get into trouble, all right?"

Biggs sighed. "Fine. We'll help you get winter gear, Skywalker."

_Break..._

"What is it?"

"It's snow, Skywalker," Wedge explained, kicking the gathering drifts at his feet. "Frozen water. And believe it or not, Hoth's covered in it."

"But why is it white? Water has no color."

"Because..." His voice trailed off. "Come to think of it, I'm not entirely sure. It IS weird, come to think of it."

"So much in this galaxy seems to be weird."

"True, true."

It seemed every world had a predominant color -- Tatooine shone gold under the double-suns, while Yavin flourished with rich green. Hoth was awash in white, white that buzzed past his face and tore at his heavily padded jumpsuit, white that smeared earth and sky and everything in between into one unrecognizable blur. The ground crunched and groaned beneath his boots, too hard to be sand but too soft to be rock, and the wind was laden with stinging white flecks that crusted his clothes and chilled the exposed skin around his eyes.

Skywalker bent low and touched the white stuff at his feet, feeling it give slightly at his touch. It was like touching cold sand. He scooped up a hanful of it and raised it to his eye level, peering closely. Yes, definitley like sand. If he looked close enough, he could almost make out individual particles...

Something struck him in the side of the head, dazing him momentarily. He brushed snow away from the side of his face and glowered at Han, who was doubling over with laughter.

"Something you must've missed as a Tusken, kid," the Corellian grinned. "Snowball fights." He grabbed another fistful of snow and hurled it at Wedge, who whirled at the strike.

"All right, someone's asking for it!" he shouted, and he retaliated with a hastily gathered blob of snow.

Chewie rolled his eyes and gave a resigned growl as the two men laid into each other, flinging snow and cheerful insults with merry abandon. Skywalker just laughed. It was nice to see that Han had a lighthearted side...

"C'mon, you clowns," grumped a Rogue Skywalker recognized as Zev, one of the more experienced pilots. "We're here to find a new base, not to play in the snow."

"Yes, Dad," Biggs retorted.

"He's your father?" asked Skywalker.

"No, he's not my father," Biggs replied. "Though sometimes he acts like it. Or like having fun's a crime."

"We've been running from the Empire for months," Hobbie complained. "Why can't we cut loose and relax a little for once? It's not like the Empire's going to be poking around on a floating ice cube for us." He scooped up a snowball and flung it at Zev's back, and the missile impacted solidly against the back of his parka.

"All right, who..." began Zev, turning. Spotting Hobbie about ready to collapse in the snow with laughter, he charged with an infuriated cry and began rubbing his face in the white stuff. Wedge tried to help Hobbie out by jamming a fistful of snow down Zev's parka, and the wrestling match became a snow-flying free-for-all.

Skywalker laughed even as he shivered -- despite all these extra layers, he was still freezing cold. Biggs had been right when he'd said Hoth was far colder than even the blackest Tatooine night. Perhaps, given time, he'd grow accustomed to it...

An eerie howl sounded above the wind. He shuddered, but not from the cold, glancing about for the source of that noise. It brought to mind the memories of Tatooine's krayt dragons... could one of the beasts somehow have made it to Hoth? But no, Hoth couldn't be more different from his homeworld; a krayt wouldn't last a day here. What sorts of beasts inhabited this icy world...

The terrible dread seized him again, just as it had moments before the Death Star had obliterated Alderaan. Without thinking he jammed his hand into his pocket, gripping the hilt of his lightsaber and pulling it free. He whirled to face a hideous snub-nosed face framed by short curling horns, lips peeling back from glistening yellow fangs and horrid red eyes glittering from within mats of snow-colored hair. The beast gave that almost-krayt scream again and raised a paw, a paw equipped with claws almost as long as knives that Skywalker knew could rend him in pieces effortlessly.

_Calm! _he ordered himself. _Stay calm, panic will only kill you... remember what Obi-wan said..._

The blade moved of its own accord, slicing forward to burn through hair and hide and flesh and bone as easily as a blade carving through overripe cactus fruit. The limb hit the snow with a dull thump, specks of red dotting the whiteness from blood vessels not entirely cauterized by the wound. The beast screamed again, higher and wilder, and it flailed its remaining arm in agony.

Bolts of light streaked past Skywalker and hit the monster, scorching hair wherever they hit. It screamed again, enraged, and staggered forward. Skywalker sidestepped a clumsy swipe and lunged, his blade punching through the beast's ribs. Gritting his teeth against the sickening sensation of the creature shaking in its death throes, trying to block out its mortal screams, he slashed upward to ensure he hit the beast's heart.

The creature toppled forward, its lifeless mass slamming into Skywalker and pinning him to the snow. He writhed and shoved ineffectually at the body atop him, but to no avail.

The snow beneath him gave slightly... then collapsed, dumping him and the dead monster into a hidden cavern beneath the ice. The startled cries of his comrades were the last thing he heard before the impact robbed him of his senses.


	19. Plots and Prophecies

**Chapter 19 -- Plots and Prophecies**

Vader had long since ceased feeling any emotion -- anger, disgust, or even perverse satisfaction -- at the fear and panic almost everyone seemed to exhibit upon facing him. He had been receiving that reaction almost from the moment he had been sealed away in the armor, and after twenty years of watching officers, prisoners, and other beings quiver and pale and sweat at the sight of his grotesque mask, he was completely jaded to such actions. If anything, it only bored him to watch a subordinate or captive stammer and shake, wasting precious minutes of his time with their stupid fear.

He waited, seething inwardly, as the Devastator's chief mechanic made his report, a report that was interrupted frequently by the man stopping to swallow down his fear every few seconds. Why couldn't he just blurt it out in a hurry and get it over with?

"...and it's going to take longer than we... than we had first estimated to repair the generators," he finally concluded. "I estimate at least... at least a week longer than we'd planned."

Under normal circumstances, the delay would have angered him. But now he only felt a grim satisfaction at the news. So they would be here a month rather than the three weeks first estimated. Perfect. More time to convince Leia to abandon her noble delusions concerning the Alliance and stand by his side as his daughter. And if that week of bought time still wasn't enough, he supposed there could always be a conveniently nasty accident with an important component of the ship's workings...

But he wouldn't let the mechanic know how perfectly the delay fit into his personal plans. "Then I suggest you stop talking and start working," he ordered.

"Y-yes, sir," he gulped, and scurried off.

Vader watched him go, then turned and strode toward the residential section of the Devastator, where Leia was being kept under guard. She had given no sign of changing her allegiances over the past few days, not even after learning the truth of her lineage. That should have angered him, but instead it gave him a strange sense of pride. She was as strong in her resolve as her mother... and that strength would be a great asset in his quest to overthrow the Emperor.

A stormtrooper halted before him and saluted. "Sir, the prisoner is refusing food."

"And how long has this been going on?"

"Two days. Just now she physically attacked the soldier who tried to bring her a meal and broke his nose."

Under different circumstances, he would have chuckled at her fiery attitude. _I wonder where she gets it..._

"I will speak with her. Perhaps I can talk some sense into her."

"Yes, sir," the soldier replied, and if Vader wasn't mistaken there was a hint of knowing humor in the man's voice.

The guards on either side of the door nodded and stepped aside as Vader approached. He keyed open the door and strode into Leia's quarters.

Leia was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall, clutching her arms as if freezing cold. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her hair was in frightful disarray, working itself loose from the braids and spraying out in all directions. When she heard his entrance she glanced up at him, and her eyes and face both hardened into a mask of hate.

"Get out," she said quietly but firmly. "You have nothing I want. What more can you do to me? What more can you take from me?"

Vader didn't answer, but moved to sit beside her. She made no move to attack him or to flinch away, though she did offer him a hard glower. He felt a smile tug at his lips beneath the mask. So like her mother...

_Which reminds me..._

"This belongs to you," he told her, and he opened his hand and offered the item within to her.

She looked at the holo projector in his hand, then back at him suspiciously.

"If I intended to harm you, I would have done so by now," he assured her. "Take it."

Hesitantly she took it and thumbed it on... and gasped as an image of Padme appeared. Despite himself, Vader felt a lump form in his throat. She had been so beautiful, an angel in the darkness, a warrior-maiden who embodied both softness and steel, gentleness and passion... just like the young woman seated before him...

"She was very much like you," Vader told Leia. "Strong-willed, totally dedicated to her beliefs and passions, loyal to those she loved. And yet she was kind as well." He looked away. "I wonder if your brother shares some of those traits as well..."

"Skywalker... Luke has a good heart," Leia replied quietly. "He's trusting and kind... but when he puts his mind to something, there's no dissuading him." She deactivated the holo. "I won't see you corrupt him."

"I have no desire to corrupt your brother -- my son," he replied. "I only want to bring him back. I want both of my children back."

"Then you shouldn't have lost us in the first place," she snapped. "What happened to you? What happened to the man who should have been my father? And what did you do to my mother?"

Her words struck him like gunfire, and he had to look away. "That is for another time..."

"No," she insisted. "I have to know. I have a right to know. Just as much as you have the right to know about me."

"You will do well to remember your place, daughter," he ordered.

"And you'll do well to remember that I have no intention of joining the Empire. Whether or not you're my father."

He was spared having to answer by the chiming of his comm unit. "What is it?" he demanded from the caller.

"The Emperor commands you to make contact with him," Captain Ozzel reported.

"Redirect the transmission to my chambers," he ordered.

"Yes, m'lord."

Vader stood and turned to face Leia. "We will speak more later. Until then, please refrain from attacking my men. And it will do you no good to starve yourself." He strode out.

_Break..._

"Well?" the Emperor demanded the moment Vader's kneeling form materialized before him. "Do you have your children?"

"My daughter is with me," Vader reported, not looking up. "My son... escaped with the Alliance. The Devastator was damaged during the attack on the Death Star; as soon as repairs are finished, I intend to resume the pursuit."

"Good," Palpatine grinned. "Good. The Alliance will pay dearly for the loss of our superweapon, Vader. Ensure it."

"Yes, my master."

"In the meantime, I will expect an audience with your children as soon as you have them both in your power. They are both strong -- I have sensed it. Only together can we turn them to the dark side."

"As you wish, my master."

He chuckled blackly. "Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen. Soon the Rebellion will be crushed and the children of Skywalker will be one with us." He raised his hand as if to bestow a blessing upon Vader. "Go forth and destroy, my friend."

Vader nodded, and the holo faded out.

Palpatine stood in place a long time, fingers steepled, contemplating. Vader was a loyal servant, carrying out orders without question, serving as a public presence for the people of the Empire to fear and obey. Yet he knew it would not remain that way for long. Once Vader had his children by his side, he would no doubt begin to plot his master's death and his eventual succession. Such was expected, of course -- it was the way of the Sith. Still, if it could be prevented...

He grinned darkly. Vader was still very much an apprentice. There was much he had yet to learn... and much the Emperor had deliberately withheld from him. Including the most basic rule of the Sith Order: _Two there should be; no more, no less; One to embody the power, the other to crave it._

Yes, once Vader had converted at least one of his children to the dark side, there would be a sudden surplus in the Sith Order. A surplus that would have to be corrected by culling the weak.

_And your son is stronger than you, Vader. Much stronger. I have sensed it already. Only the most powerful of beings could have single-handedly destroyed my superweapon -- a feat even you could not equal. He will not be the one to fall, oh no._

He laughed harshly before turning and striding out of his quarters. It was time for him to begin his own quest for a Skywalker. Why wait for his apprentice to finish the job?

"Prepare my shuttle for Tatooine," he barked. "Now!"

_Break..._

_"Luke..."_

_He moaned and opened his eyes, expecting darkness. Instead, a clean pure light spilled across his face like a gentle hand on his cheek. The weight of the beast he had slain was gone, and the cold no longer sank its burning fangs into his skin. For the first time in ages, he was warm. Warm and peaceful and free from pain and discomfort..._

_"Am I dead?"_

_"No, Luke." The voice was gentle, melodious, and so familiar... a soft hand brushed his cheek and he wanted to reach up and hold it there..._

_"Then where am I?"_

_"Shh," the voice soothed, the hand now brushing his forehead. "Relax. You took a bad fall. You need to rest and recover."_

_"But I don't feel any pain." He turned his head slightly to face the speaker._

_The woman smiled, an expression that illuminated her already-lovely face. Brown hair fell in waves down her shoulders, and deep brown eyes sparkled with emotion as she gazed down at him. He knew he had seen her face somewhere before, and he struggled to place it..._

_"Luke," she continued, "I know you have friends with the Alliance. And I know you believe they need your help. But there is something far more important you need to see to."_

_"What?" he asked anxiously. "What must I do?"_

_"Go to Dagobah. Find Yoda. You must hurry, there isn't much time left. If you're to fulfill the prophecies, you must act now."_

_The prophecy! Sand-Storm's prophecy! How could he have forgotten already? If he was to defeat the Black One and save the Sandpeople, he had to find Yoda and finish his training. Only with all the knowledge of the Force could he cast back the dark shadow that threatened his people..._

_"I love you, Luke." She bent and kissed his forehead. "May the Force be with you."_

_"Wait..." he pleaded, but already she and the welcome light that surrounded her were fading. Cold seeped into his bones, and with it came pain and noise..._

_Just as she faded entirely from his view, he realized why she looked so familiar -- she looked just like his sister..._

"...always was a lucky stiff," Han was saying. "But finding us a new base by practically falling right into it's a bit much."

"It keeps the wind out, I'm not gonna complain," Biggs shot back.

"Hey, I think he's coming around!" shouted Hobbie.

With a moan Skywalker opened his eyes -- strange, it seemed he'd just done that a moment ago -- to find a cluster of anxious faces hanging over him. Wedge, Biggs, and Hobbie looked worried, Han amused, and Threepio and the medical droid expressionless as always. He tried to sit up but failed, a stabbing pain in his chest keeping him from rising.

"Just relax," the medical droid instructed. "You suffered some cracked ribs from the fall."

"And having a ton of wampa land on him probably didn't help," quipped Biggs. "You really gave us a scare, Skywalker. One minute you were fighting that thing and the next... you just vanished."

"Where am I?" he asked. "Are we back on the Home One?"

"No, we're still on Hoth," Wedge explained. "Turns out you'd disappeared because an ice tunnel right beneath you collapsed. This portion of the planet is covered in ice caves, and the Alliance is busy cleaning some of them out and setting up our base. It'll be cold, but it'll protect us from the Empire."

"Which reminds me, now that he's awake, we need to return to patrol," Hobbie said, clapping Skywalker on the shoulder. "See you when Too Onebee lets you go, Skywalker!" He and the other Rogues left.

Skywalker moaned again and laid his head back on the pillow.

"You okay, kid?" asked Han.

"My chest hurts."

"You are probably overdue for another dose of painkiller," the droid replied, turning and readying some sort of medical equipment.

"Oh, Master Skywalker, it's so wonderful to see you functional again!" Threepio gushed, placing a hand on his arm.

"Thanks, Threepio."

"Let me see your arm," the droid requested.

Skywalker raised the limb. "Han, I need to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"I need someone to take me to Dagobah."

"Dago-what?"

"Dagobah. It's a planet. A Jedi named Yoda lives there."

Han snorted a laugh. "And who told you this? The crazy old wizard?"

"Obi-wan did. He appeared to me in a vision a few nights ago..."

This time Han let out a fully fledged laugh. "Oh man, the old fossil really DID drive you crazy before he died."

"I'm not crazy," Skywalker insisted. "He told me to go to Dagobah... what are you doing?"

"Disinfecting your arm," the droid replied, putting the swab aside. "I'm preparing you for an injection."

"A what?"

"He's going to stick a needle into your vein and give you medicine," Han explained.

Skywalker froze. "He's going to stab me?"

"No... well yeah, sorta, but not with a knife or anything. It's just a needle, it won't hurt that much."

He jerked his arm back. "You're not stabbing me!"

The droid calmly lowered his arm but stood close by all the same. He had obviously dealt with uncooperative patients before.

"Let him do his job, kid," Han encouraged. "You'll feel better, trust me."

"But..."

"Kid, I don't know what you saw that night, but it must have been a dream. People just don't pop back from the dead. And they don't randomly command people to visit obscure planets in search of weirdly named Jedi who probably don't even exist. You want my advice? Forget about Obi-wan and this Yoda guy and stick with the Alliance. At least they care about what happens to you."

"Obi-wan cares about me... ow!"

"Done," the droid noted, withdrawing the needle. "The pain should ease in a few minutes." He put a small bandage over the injection site and moved on.

Skywalker rubbed his arm. "That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

Han smiled. "If you don't think about it, it's not that bad. Anyhow, as I was saying, I'm not flying you to Dagobah. Plain and simple."

Skywalker gave him a hard stare. "Then I'll go myself. I can fly. I can shoot too. I can get past any Imperials I see, and I can find Dagobah on my own. I'm sure the droids can help me, and if they can't, Obi-wan can. If not, I'll still take the chance. My people on Tatooine need me. My sister needs me. And I won't just sit here shivering on Hoth when there's something I can do to help my family... be they human or Tusken."

Han sighed. "You don't give up, do you, kid?"

"No, I don't. That's why I'm alive right now."

"True." He sighed again. "Well, I can't let you run off on a suicide mission, can I? Someone's got to keep your fat out of the fire." He patted his shoulder. "Get well soon, kid. Soon as you're out of that bed, we'll find your Yoda friend."

Skywalker smiled. "Thanks, Han! You're a wonderful friend!"

"Right," Han muttered. "With crazy friends like you around, maybe Jabba won't need those bounty hunters."


	20. The Living Force

**Chapter 20 -- The Living Force**

"He's WHAT?" demanded Hobbie.

"Gone," Biggs replied. "Took everything with him -- his flight suit, his weapons, even his Tusken gear. His droids are gone too. And guess who else is missing?"

"Han Solo," Wedge said darkly -- it was a statement, not a question. "I figured he'd have a hand in this."

Every Rogue pilot stared at Biggs with a look of horror, his announcement having served to wipe the last traces of sleepiness from their faces. No one had been particularly happy about being shaken awake in the middle of the night and dragged into the nearest common room for an emergency meeting, but now no one questioned or complained. To hear that their star recruit had not only abandoned the base, but had taken Han Solo with him, was a terrible blow.

"You don't think he's defecting to the Empire, do you?" asked Zev.

"Are you kidding?" Hobbie retorted. "He hates the Empire!"

"He's probably going after his sister," Wedge theorized. "He did seem pretty frustrated that the Rebellion wasn't sending out rescue parties."

"And for good reason," Ackbar replied, striding into the room at that moment, impeccably dressed as ever in his white military uniform. "Vader is not one to be underestimated. We did warn Skywalker about that."

"But shouldn't someone go after them?" demanded Biggs. "We should send a search party! I'll volunteer!"

"I'll go!" Wedge offered.

"Count me in!" hollered Hobbie.

"Soldiers!" barked Ackbar. "There will be no search party."

"What?" exclaimed Hobbie.

"The Rebellion does not force men to remain Rebels should they change their minds," Ackbar replied. "If Skywalker and Solo have decided the risks of being Rebels are too great for them to endure, they have every right to leave and seek their fortunes elsewhere. We will not endanger our own troops by pursuing men who do not want to be dissuaded from their flight."

"You make it sound like they're betraying us," Wedge complained. "I don't think Skywalker's defecting. I think he's just going to rescue his sister. You saw yourself how upset he was when Mothma turned down his request that we send a rescue team after Leia and Obi-wan."

"Yeah, and Obi-wan's dead now," Biggs pointed out. "Which would, of course, make him more determined to find Leia before something happens to her too."

"As I've said before, we will not pursue Skywalker," Ackbar told them sternly. "If he is indeed still loyal to us, it is possible he'll return once he has realized that he has taken on an impossible task. If he has changed his allegiances... I will not see men injured or killed trying to bring him back." He shook his head. "The best thing we can do is remain here and safeguard what is left of the Rebellion."

Biggs shot to his feet. "See, this is exactly where Skywalker was coming from!"

"Come again?" asked Wedge.

"Tusken Raiders have always seen humans as weak and cowardly," Biggs explained. "They're a tough people -- I mean, they live on a desert planet full of vicious creatures and the general scum of the galaxy; they kind of have to be. They value bravery and community, and when they see humans run from a confrontation or abandon a comrade to save their own hides, it only reinforces their contempt for humankind. And when Skywalker sees us running from the Empire and refusing to send search parties after his missing friends... it really doesn't show us in the best light, does it?"

Hobbie looked thoughtful. "Never thought of it that way."

"Skywalker comes from a primitive tribe," Ackbar told him. "He does not understand that the traditions his tribe values so highly are liable to get him killed in the galaxy beyond Tatooine."

"So bravery and community are primitive ideals?" retorted Biggs. "If that's the case, then maybe we should start listening to what the primitive tribes have to say. They might teach us a few things."

Ackbar sighed. "I know many of you have befriended Skywalker and hate to lose him. However, we cannot take any risks at this point by sending a search party. And any who leave this base to search for him without my authorization will be punished."

A chorus of complaints rose, but Ackbar stood and left the room as if he couldn't hear them.

"Wow, what an example we've set for Skywalker," muttered Wedge. "What's he going to think when he realizes we didn't even make a move to look for him when he turned up missing?"

"I vote we go after him anyway," Hobbie stated. "If Ackbar and the rest of the high-uppers don't like it, they can kiss our thrusters."

"But Hobbie..." protested Zev.

"For once I'm with Hobbie," Wedge interrupted. "Anyone else game for going after Skywalker?"

"Count me in!" Biggs volunteered.

"And me!" Hobbie barked.

Several other Rogues raised their hands, but Wedge waved them down. "Ackbar was right on one point -- we can't have the whole Rogue Squadron go. We still need some pilots to stay here and defend the base."

"Let's keep it down to three, then," Hobbie suggested. "Everyone else keeps this quiet."

Murmurs of agreement were his answer.

"Where do we begin looking?" Biggs asked. "You don't think he went back to Tatooine, do you?"

"I say we go to the last place the princess was," said Wedge. "That would be the Yavin system. We can work our way from there."

"All right, everyone get your gear," ordered Hobbie. "We'll meet in the main hangar at 0500."

_Break..._

"Here it is," announced Han as they broke out of hyperspace. "Dagobah. And why a Jedi would be hiding out here is beyond me."

"Maybe because the Empire wouldn't think about looking here?" suggested Skywalker.

"Maybe. I know I sure as heck wouldn't start the search here."

Dagobah lay spread out before them, a splendor of green and white... and somehow feeling so _alive. _Skywalker closed his eyes and reveled a moment in the incredible feeling of life and energy that radiated from the planet below them. It seemed he could sense the presence, the living spirit, of every creature on this planet, every plant and animal, every insect and bird. Their collective energies wrapped around him and welcomed him, accepting him as another living being, another strand in their interconnected web. It was absolutely incredible...

And wound through that web of life was a strand that fairly burned with energy, a presence that nearly blinded him. It seemed infinitely wise and powerful, its energies coursing through the web and touching all and being touched by all in return. It brushed his mind, curious, then held back, as if wondering whether he would choose to make himself part of the web...

"Skywalker!"

"Huh?" He shook his head and turned to Han. "What?"

"I said we're starting approach, kid. Go buckle yourself in; I don't know what kind of landing this is going to be."

Mist enveloped the Falcon as if it were sinking into a snowbank. Han cursed and slowed the ship's progress to a crawl, guiding it downward gingerly. No one spoke -- even Artoo's normally constant beeps and whirrs were silent.

Then the Falcon bucked as it was hit from below. Han swore and fought to regain control of the ship, only for it to bounce and jostle around like a bantha with a rock under its saddle. Skywalker clung to the bulkhead to keep from falling over, and a metallic cry and a loud thud told him Threepio hadn't been as lucky.

A terribly loud, terribly _wet _thud later, and the Falcon came to a standstill, its floor tilted at a weird angle.

"Ah stang," grumbled Han. "We've crashed in a swamp."

"A swamp?" asked Skywalker.

"Water and mud everywhere, kid. Which'll mean almost no solid ground to walk on." He inspected a few instrument panels, then swore long and creatively. "Just as I thought. Main doors are completely underwater. We'll have to go out the top hatch."

Skywalker turned to Threepio and Artoo. "Stay with the ship for now. We'll go out first."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Master Skywalker," Threepio agreed.

Artoo grumbled electronically. If he'd possessed flesh-and-blood eyes, he would have rolled them at his taller counterpart.

"Don't call me a prissy coward, you overweight glob of grease," Threepio chided.

Skywalker laughed. "Don't kill each other, you two... um, if machines can kill each other."

Skywalker, Han, and Chewie emerged from the topside hatch to gaze upon the surface of Dagobah. _Gray, _was Skywalker's first thought -- the predominant color of this planet. Everything here was hazed silvery-gray with age, from the murky water that surrounded the Falcon to the humps of earth that reared from the water here and there like rocks poking out of the sand, from the ancient trees that arched grandly overhead to the very air that seemed to breathe history in his ears as it sighed past. This was a world untouched by outsider hands, a world heavy with the knowlege of spirits and nature, a world that not only bore life but was itself alive, breathing in time with its inhabitants. He felt invigorated simply by listening to the chatter and cry of wildlife and breathing in the moist rich air.

_No wonder a Jedi Master lives here._

"This place gives me the creeps," Han noted with a shiver.

Chewie barked.

"Not to me," Han retorted.

"What did he say?" asked Skywalker.

"He says 'it feels like home.'"

Skywalker turned to face the Wookie. "You lived in the wilds?"

Chewie explained.

"His people live in villages built in the trees," Han translated. "They've always been close to nature. Even their technology embraces the natural world as much as possible. A lot of Wookies have gone offworld -- more so now that the Empire's taken over Kashyyk, their homeworld -- but they still feel kinship with the wild."

Skywalker nodded. "Then the Tuskens have something in common with them."

Chewie's eyes sparkled as if he were smiling. Then he hopped down from the Falcon and into the water, growling with delight.

"C'mon, let's find your Jedi and get away from here," said Han, leaping down from the Falcon and landing in the murky waist-deep water. "Ugh, I don't even want to know what's been in here."

Skywalker slid down the Falcon's side and hit the water with a splash, soaking himself from head to foot. Something in the mud under his hand squirmed from beneath his palm and wriggled away. He tried not to think too hard about the creature as he got to his feet and sloshed after Han and Chewie.

"How are we going to find Yoda?" asked Skywalker.

"I thought that was your problem," Han told him.

"I've never had to search for a Jedi before..." Skywalker retorted.

Chewie paused, holding a paw up for silence. His nostrils twitched slightly, like a massif scenting prey. Then he threw his head back and gave a long, loud howl that startled flocks of noisly flapping creatures out of the trees.

"Well, I'll be..." Han guffawed.

"What is it?" asked Skywalker. "Is there danger?"

"No," Han replied. "It's a greeting call. It means he's found a friend... one that's been gone a long time."

Once the Wookie's cry had faded, silence prevailed -- or something close to it, as a wild land like this could never be truly silent. Several minutes passed before a reply of sorts could be heard -- a cheerful humming and a rhythmic sloshing.

Chewie bellowed.

"Good to see you too, it is," a high rough voice answered. "And brought friends with you, I see you did."

The vines and branches drooping low over the water before them parted, and a strange wooden craft glided toward them. Long and tapered, hollowed out on the inside, it was about as long as a man and filled with plants, roots, fungi, and assorted other organic odds and ends. The pilot of the craft guided it along by means of a long rough-hewn pole, occasionally pausing to thrust the pole into the mud and bring the craft to a halt in order to snatch an interesting-looking leaf or herb. When it finally reached the unlikely threesome, it slid to a halt, and the pilot gazed up at them serenely.

Skywalker had never seen an alien creature this small -- even the Jawas were taller. Clad in a rough homespun robe like a Tusken's, his skin was a pale green, gnarled and wrinkled like an old man's. Fluffs of white hair topped an oval head framed by two long triangular ears that quivered in concentration at every sound. Clawed hands clutched the pole tightly, hands that might just as easily have held a weapon or a writing instrument with the same confident grip. And the face... though pinched and beady-eyed in comparison to most humans', it seemed to carry a wealth of wisdom in a single glance. That face now regarded Skywalker, the green eyes inching their way up and down his body as if determined to memorize his every detail. Only when the inspection was completed did he nod and look him in the eye.

He didn't hesitate. "Hello, Master Yoda."

Han snorted a laugh... then yelped when Chewie cuffed him.

Yoda nodded, pleased. "Well done, young Skywalker. Well-centered in the living Force you are already." He then turned to Han. "Picked up an interesting friend you have, Chewbacca."

Chewie barked.

"A life-debt, hmmm?" Yoda looked Han over with the same studious gaze, a gaze that made the smuggler squirm in place. "Rough, unpolished, self-centered... yet a pure core I sense. Chosen well you have."

"Look, Mr. Yoda, I don't want in on any of this mystic poodoo," Han told him firmly, holding up his hands. "I just came here to make sure the kid found you without any problem. Now that that's taken care of, I'm leaving. If I don't pay off Jabba the Hutt, I'm a dead man."

Yoda gave him a grave look. "Perhaps, young Solo. But upon your mission the fate of one man rests. Upon Skywalker's mission, the fate of a galaxy rests. If fails he does, matter your quest will not."

Solo opened his mouth as if to retort, then shut it again, chastened.

"Skywalker, for what purpose have you come?" asked Yoda.

"To complete my training," he replied. "To save my people... and my sister." He thought a little more. "After that... I want to become a Jedi. To do what I can to help the galaxy."

Yoda nodded. "A difficult path you have chosen, Skywalker. Of a most serious mind you must be. Focused you must be on your studies, on your quests. Many enemies and obstacles you will face."

"I'm ready for them. I am not afraid."

Yoda's face became even graver. "You will be, youngling. You will be." Then his features softened a little. "Like your mother you look. Your father's eyes have you, but your smile is your mother's."

"Y-you knew my mother?"

"Indeed. A strong woman, full of fire and grace. A great loss was her death." He lowered his head respectfully, then motioned with one hand. "Come. Follow me. Before we begin the training, eat we must." With effort he turned the craft around and began propelling it away.

Han placed a hand to his forehead as if experiencing a headache. "I come here expecting another old wizard... and I get a thing in a boat that talks backwards and is best buds with my co-pilot. Chewie, why didn't you ever mention this guy?"

Chewie growled.

"Well, just because I never asked doesn't mean you had to keep it a big secret..."

Skywalker ignored the bickering smugglers and trailed after the Jedi.

_Break..._

The foreboding figure of a Tusken astride a bantha stood atop the sand dune, their silhouette standing out in sharp relief against the bleeding-red of the sunset like a paper cutout. Below and behind the figure, the camp bedded itself down and lit the campfires, preparing for the night. Off to one side, the Temple of the Moons came to life, the Daughters of the Moons bringing forth their banners and costumes in preperation for the night's ceremony. Far off in the distance, a krayt dragon could be heard singing out a final hunting call as it cast about for a final meal before retiring for the night. Overhead, the cresents of the triple-moons gleamed against the darkening sky, watching over the land like the eyes of a goddess.

A curious rumble made the bantha shift and moan, and Weed raised his head and glanced about to discern the threat. There was no sign of an attacking enemy tribe or an outsider craft, and seeing as the ground remained still it couldn't be an earthquake...

Archer bawled out in terror and skittered worse than ever, and Weed had to grab at his reins to quiet him. As he did so, he happened to glance upward... and he felt his innards freeze.

"Outsiders!" he bellowed. "Outsider ship! It's landing by the camp!"

At his cry the entire camp, so peaceful moments ago, sprang to life like a water-drenched insect nest. Warriors burst from their tents, gripping knives and gaderffis and rifles in their hands as they surged forward to meet the threat. Women, old men, and the older boys gathered the hysterical children together and herded them toward the banthas, who were instinctively forming a ring about their young to protect them; the beasts parted only to allow the tribe members to take advantage of their protection. The Daughters of the Moons dropped their ceremonial items and instead charged forward to aid the men, armed with knives and bone staffs.

Weed knew that technically he should be joining the women and children, as he had a few days to go before his Adulthood Ceremony. But he had no desire to cower and hide while the men faced the invading outsiders. He clutched his gaderffi and urged Archer forward.

The outsider ship had landed by now, its wings folded up its back like an insect's. The warriors formed a semi-circle at the head of the ship, all tensed to charge the moment any outsiders chose to disembark. Weed vaulted from Archer's back and bolted forward to stand between Red-Dragon and Stone-Shadow, his weapon ready.

A ramp lowered from the ship, and a cowled being stepped from the vehicle.

Weed shuddered, feeling suddenly cold. _He has power! Like a Son of the Suns!_

The outsider gazed upon them from the recesses of a black hooded cloak, silent and watchful. The tribe tensed, waiting for an attack.

It never came. Instead, the outsider raised his arms and spoke to them in their own language:

"People of Tatooine, greetings from the worlds beyond your world. I come in peace and friendship... and I need your help."


	21. Dark Alliances

**Chapter 21 -- Dark Alliances**

Leia stared out the window of her quarters, gazing into the blackness of space as if trying to lose herself in it, to cast herself into that sea of bejeweled darkness, never to be found again. Indeed, the idea of floating through the cosmos for eternity almost sounded appealing. Her body would be no more lost than she felt her heart and soul were at this very moment.

She had been Vader's captive for weeks now -- he never called her such, but she refused to see it any other way. He had never harmed her, never threatened her, only visited her and spoken to her, telling stories about her mother or again inviting her to join him and help him overthrow the Emperor. Each time she had listened to what he had to say, absorbing everything about Padme like a dry sponge pulling in water, but had rebuffed his requests every time. He seemed to accept and even welcome her refusals, as if they proved him right somehow.

She stared down at her hands, which lay limply in her lap. She couldn't hold out much longer. It wasn't fear of the Dark Lord that made her realize that -- far from it. The more she came into contact with him, hearing her mother's story -- and his story -- the more she realized he was indeed her father. And the more she learned about him, the more she saw the man her mother had fallen in love with all those years ago.

And that frightened her. It frightened her deeply to be growing close to Vader in any way. Every time she listened to him speak of her parents, she felt as if she were betraying the Rebellion. And she found it deeply disturbing that every time Vader asked her to join him, she found it harder to turn him down. She hated him, yet she wanted to be close to him, if only to learn more of her heritage. She had no desire to abandon her place in the Rebellion, yet she knew that the Rebellion's cause would eventually mean the death of her father in some way or another. She felt trapped, stuck at a crossroads where either path she took would only lead to disaster.

The door whooshed open, and Vader strode into the room. She didn't shrink back, only watched as he seated himself in a chair and faced her, an expectant air hanging about him.

"Have you given any further thought to my proposal, Leia?" he inquired.

"Yes," she replied. "And I think you already know my answer."

He nodded slowly. "I admire your convictions, Leia. You are certainly dedicated to the Rebellion's cause. However, I am not certain that you have chosen the _right _cause to uphold."

"What could be more right than overthrowing the Emperor?" Leia retorted. "Than doing away with the corruption and tyranny of the Empire and restoring the Republic?"

"Is that really what you think is right?" Vader inquired. "The Empire is admittedly a corrupt government... but it is still a government, an organization that brings order to the galaxy. And the Rebellion would see that order torn asunder if they had their way."

"We would restore the Republic," Leia countered.

"The Republic was just as corrupt as the Empire, if not more so," came the reply. "The old laws no longer worked. The system had grown too cumbersome, too bogged down by the bureaucrats and courts. You would only restart the cycle of decay if you reformed the Republic."

"You're saying there's no hope for any sort of working government?" Leia demanded.

"The government must be reformed from the inside," Vader replied. "Someone competent must take charge and reform the Imperial laws. Someone wise and with the best interests of the galaxy in mind."

"Someone like yourself?"

"Of course not." He inclined his head toward her. "I thought you a more likely candidate."

Her jaw dropped slightly. Was he insinuating that he wanted HER to take charge of the Empire?

"You have already proven yourself in the political arena, your Highness," he told her. "You believe in justice and equality. You could bring the Empire out of this age of darkness and into a new era. You could restore order to the galaxy..."

"I have no desire to lead the Empire," she informed him. "Find another stooge to play your puppet."

A slight rumble echoed from his vocalizer as he tried to hold back a laugh and failed. "You have spirit, your Highness. I admire that. But you cannot play this game forever. You cannot stand by my side as my daughter without joining the Empire. It will only mean your death."

She fell silent. She had no desire to join the Empire... and yet she couldn't leave him. Despite all he had done, he was her father. She had already lost her family when Alderaan had been destroyed. She couldn't lose anyone else.

"What about Skywalker?" she asked.

"We will find your brother together," Vader promised. "We will be a family again. No one -- Empire, Rebellion, Jedi, or any other force in the galaxy -- can tear our family apart again."

She inhaled deeply, shutting her eyes. This was no idle choice -- this would affect not only her life, but Skywalker's. He still saw Vader as the Black One, a dark creature who threatened his tribe and had killed his father. If he ever realized his sister had joined forces with him, it could very well turn him against her. And he was a Jedi, or at least training to be one. Son or not, Vader was sworn as a Sith to kill him. The only way to keep him safe...

She released her breath in a sigh and opened her eyes. "One condition, and I'll join you."

"Name it," he ordered.

"Don't pursue Skywalker. Do with me what you will, just leave my brother alone. I won't see him hurt."

Vader considered that a long moment, then gave a slow nod. "Agreed." He stood. "The repairs have been finished. We will leave for Corusant shortly." He reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Welcome back, my child."

She shrugged away from him. "Just go."

He lowered his hand. "Very well." He turned and left the room.

She stared back out the window, feeling something in her heart shatter. She had just severed ties with the Rebellion, the cause she had dedicated her life to. They would never have her back among their ranks now. She could only pray that Vader would honor the deal... and that her sacrifice on Skywalker's behalf would not be in vain.

_Break..._

"Okay, so if you were a Tusken who'd just been introduced to human ways and Vader kidnapped your sister, where would you go first?" asked Hobbie via comm.

"This isn't funny," Biggs chided.

"I wasn't trying to be funny, I was asking a hypothetical question," Hobbie snapped.

"Here's a hypothetical question," Biggs retorted. "What could I be doing right now instead of asking stupid questions?"

"Hey!"

"Okay you two, knock it off," Wedge ordered. "He obviously didn't come back to Yavin. Let's consider our options from this point."

Three X-wing fighters hung in space between the verdant fourth moon of Yavin and the scattered debris of the Death Star. They had scanned the planet for any homing signals or distress calls, but nothing had turned up. They had also done a thorough but careful search of the debris field, again finding nothing. Hobbie had suggested landing on the planet and searching on foot, a suggestion Wedge quickly dismissed as impractical. The search had come to a dead end for the moment, and the Rogues were unable to decide on their next course of action.

"Do you think Ackbar might actually be right?" wondered Wedge. "Maybe he did go back home..."

"Tuskens don't abandon a battle," Biggs told them. "Skywalker told me that they don't believe in giving up in a quest. They might retreat briefly, but only to gather forces or replenish supplies for another try."

"What else did he tell you about Tuskens?" asked Wedge.

"This is a really weird place for a lesson on Tusken culture," Hobbie pointed out.

"Be serious, Hobbie," Wedge told him. "We need to know how his people think. That way, we might figure out where he's headed."

"They consider pride a great weakness," Biggs explained. "A Tusken who puts his own image before the needs of the tribe is looked down upon. They believe the suns and moons to be gods and goddesses, and that they determine the life path of each Tusken. They place a high value on children and life in general. They're closely in tune with nature and spiritual matters." He paused as if wondering what to cover next. "Helping any?"

"Not really," Wedge confessed.

"What did he say his life path was?" asked Hobbie. "Or had he picked one yet?"

"The priests and priestesses picked it," Biggs corrected. "They made him a Son of the Suns -- a priest in their culture."

"Makes sense," Hobbie noted. "He was training to be a Jedi, wasn't he?"

"A Jedi..." Wedge mulled over that a moment. "You don't think he went to find a Jedi, do you? To complete his training?"

"A Jedi?" Hobbie finished for him. "C'mon, the Jedi are extinct. Kenobi was the last, and as far as we know he's dead."

"If Kenobi survived the Purges, maybe others did," Biggs theorized. "And don't quote me on this, since I don't know for sure, but maybe Kenobi was able to tell Skywalker where some of those Jedi were before he was captured."

"That doesn't help us, though," Wedge said. "We don't know where to start looking for Jedi."

"Kenobi was on an Outer Rim world," Biggs pointed out. "That narrows it down a little."

"Oh yeah, only to about two or three million worlds," Hobbie sniped.

"Shut up, Hobbie," Wedge ordered.

"Hey, I'm just making a point," Hobbie defended. "Our chances of finding a Jedi are a billion to one!"

"We have to take that chance," Wedge replied. "We need to make sure that Skywalker's safe, wherever he is. Let's land where the base was and see if we can resupply from what we left behind in the base. Then we'll find a map and try to plot out where he might have gone."

_Break..._

Stone-Shadow scowled at the black-robed being before him, though he doubted the human could sense his expression through his facial coverings. "You do realize that if we discover you have lied to us, death is the consequence?"

"You may certainly try to kill me if you wish," his guest said with a grin. "But I do not fear your threats, chief, because I have no cause to lie to you."

Stone-Shadow and the outsider who called himself Palpatine sat across from each other in the chief's tent, the leader of the Tusken tribe flanked by his guards, Palpatine accompanied by his own scarlet-clad sentries. Stone-Shadow had never addressed an outsider before and had never had cause to, and he had hoped to keep it that way for some time. Dealing with humans was a dangerous affair -- hadn't enough raiders and Daughters of the Moons met untimely deaths at their hands? And they were backstabbers by nature, plotting treachery at every turn, offering sweet words that hid poison at their hearts.

But Palpatine had been most insistent that he required aid that only the Tuskens could give. And he spoke their language, something few outsiders could do. For those reasons, Stone-Shadow reluctantly gave the human audience.

"Your claim that the one we know as Sky-Walker is a human will be disputed by many," Stone-Shadow informed him. "Red-Dragon and Moon-Blossom claim him as a son, and Wind-Dancer as a brother. The Eldest Sister of the Daughters of the Moons was present at his birth as well. If you were to make your claim before the tribe, they would have your blood for slandering a member of the tribe."

"Your people have been decieved, though through no fault of their own," Palpatine replied. "A human child was abandoned on this planet -- fortunately for the child, in the vicinity of your tribe. Those you call Red-Dragon and Moon-Blossom adopted him as their own. I have come to reclaim the child and restore him to his rightful home."

"No Tusken would take in a human child..." began Stone-Shadow.

"They very well might," replied Palpatine. "Perhaps if their own child had died, and they were pining for a replacement."

That did make sense. "But why would a Daughter of the Moons practice deception? Why would she lie to the tribe regarding the child?"

Palpatine smiled. "Because the child is strong. Surely you know this. He has powers far beyond anything your people have ever seen. She must have sensed this... and allowed him into the tribe for that reason. Perhaps the Daughters of the Moons had something special in mind for him."

"The Daughters of the Moons have always worked in the best interests of the tribe."

"Don't be so sure of that." Palpatine leaned in closer. "I have heard it whispered about your camp that a Black One threatens you. What does this mean?"

"A being who has killed members of our tribe," Stone-Shadow replied. "Some call him a night-demon, while others claim he is simply an outsider. Either way, he is dead. The Daughters of the Moons destroyed him some time ago."

Palpatine grinned wickedly. "I know otherwise, Stone-Shadow. This Black One of yours lives. I have seen him myself."

Stone-Shadow clenched his fists. "He lives?"

"Perhaps your Daughters of the Moons are not as loyal to you as you wish to believe?" Palpatine mused. "No matter. Let me work out a deal with you -- if I help you defeat this Black One of yours, you turn Sky-Walker over to me, that I may reunite him with his family."

"I cannot promise that," Stone-Shadow replied. "Sky-Walker left Tatooine to seek knowledge on how to defeat the Black One."

"Oh, he will return," Palpatine assured him. "He will. I can assure you that."

Stone-Shadow considered a moment, then nodded. "A deal, then." He extended his hand. "The return of your missing human for the death of the Black One."

"Excellent." Palpatine clasped the hand. "Now lead me to your Sons of the Suns. There are things I would like to discuss with them."


	22. Demonstrations and Betrayals

**Chapter 22 -- Demonstrations and Betrayals**

Han was beginning to wonder how there could still be any water vapor left in the planet's atmosphere when it seemed enough rain to drown Tatooine had been wrung from the air over the course of the past week. He was also starting to wonder if it was possible for a human to drown through osmosis. His body certainly felt waterlogged enough to have absorbed an entire swamp's worth of dampness. If he didn't get off this mudball soon, he was going to grow gills, he knew it.

He snorted and continued to poke through the wiring of the Falcon's main shield generator, hunching beneath the makeshift shelter he'd slapped together from some sheet metal and packing tape. The rain made repairs difficult to say the very least -- wet wiring was always a recipe for disaster. He took a little comfort in knowing that things could always be worse. They could have landed on Tatooine in the middle of a sandstorm...

That reminded him... he raised his head, rain dripping from his hair and sliding down his cheeks and the back of his head, and looked around for the kid. He finally spotted the young man sitting cross-legged in the mud at the base of a tree, seemingly oblivious to his sodden robes and dripping mane of blond hair. His features were composed in a look of intense concentration, and his fingers clenched slightly as he focused. Close by, Yoda stood atop a flat rock as if to keep his feet out of the mud, leaning on his cane and watching Skywalker intently.

Han set his tools aside and settled back to watch. He had to give these two credit -- whatever sleight-of-hand they were pulling off during these sessions was pretty slick. If he didn't know any better, he'd say there really was a Force at work during the kid's meditation exercises. Probably some kind of magnetic fields...

"Anger," Yoda was intoning solemnly. "Fear. Aggression. The dark side are they. Tempting paths to pursue they are, but only to destruction do they lead. Once down the dark path you start, forever will it dominate your destiny."

"Is the dark side stronger?" asked Skywalker, his expression never changing.

"No," chided Yoda. "No. Quicker, easier, more seductive. Consume you it will."

"How will I know the difference?"

"When you are calm," Yoda assured him. "At peace, one with the Force."

As Yoda talked a stone in front of Luke rocked in the mud, jolting like an egg about to hatch. With a sloppy squelch it rose, dripping slightly, and hovered in the air at about the level of Yoda's head. The stone wobbled a bit, glided to one side, and came down to rest gently atop another stone.

Han grinned. "You two could run your own illusionist's show, y'know."

"All matter is an illusion, young Solo," Yoda replied evenly. "Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter. Every rock, every tree, every grain of sand and drop of water is connected through the Force."

Han shook his head. "Sounds like a bunch of nonsense to me."

"Save the galaxy this 'nonsense' will," Yoda retorted without anger. "Again, Skywalker."

Another rock worked its way out of the mud and arced through the air to join the others in the growing stacks and rows arranged neatly before Yoda. Skywalker's eyes had slid out of focus some time ago, leaving only a vacant stare that gave Han an eerie shiver. If this Force really existed -- and he was keeping the jury out on that one -- it certainly wasn't something he wanted to get involved in...

Chewie howled in alarm.

"What..." began Han, only to stagger as the Falcon shifted abruptly under his feet. Arms flailing, he tumbled over the side of the ship, landing with a wet splat in the murky green water. Luckily the water wasn't deep, so it was only a matter of a few scrambling moments to get to his feet, wiping sludge out of his hair and coughing violently to clear his air passages of the disgusting swamp water.

"What was that?" Skywalker's eyes snapped into focus, and the three rocks he was currently moving dropped to the ground as if an invisible hand had struck them out of the air.

Yoda sighed and shook his head. "Concentration, Skywalker. Control. Happen distractions do. Learn to overcome your surroundings you must..."

"Shut up, will you?" demanded Han, slogging to the muddy rise where Yoda and Skywalker sat. "Who cares about concentration? Our ride outta here's sinking!"

Artoo, who was cleaning mud from Threepio's knee joints on a patch of slighty drier ground close by, squealed in shock as the Falcon shifted again like a massif settling down for the night, then began sliding slowly out of sight in the muddy water.

"Oh dear," moaned Threepio. "Stranded again. I seem to be made to suffer..."

"Holy sands," Skywalker breathed. "I see what you mean, Han. Water CAN be dangerous!"

"Don't suppose there's any way to call a towcraft, is there?" Han muttered sarcastically.

"Patience, young ones," Yoda advised, shuffling down from the rock to stand beside Han. "A minor setback this is..."

"MINOR?" Han yelped. "My ship is sinking in a bog on a slimy mudball of a planet at the edge of the known universe, leaving me stuck here with a fuzzball, two rust-buckets, a swamp elf, and an Outer Rim bumpkin, and it's a minor setback! I can't believe you!" And he raised a leg to deliver a frustrated kick to the Jedi Master.

Skywalker scrambled to his feet, hands out to push or tackle Han -- he wasn't sure which the kid intended, and he'd never find out. Yoda was much faster than the young quasi-Tusken, and before Han's foot could make contact, he found himself lying flat on his back in the mud, his shinbone shrieking in pain, Chewie's laughter roaring in his ears.

"Han!" exclaimed Skywalker. "Are you all right?"

"I'll live," he groaned, sitting up slowly and reaching over to rub his injured leg. "I'll give your Master one thing -- he can move fast when he wants to."

Yoda made an exaggerated show of examining his cane for dents. "Said it before I did, and say it again I shall now. Patience. Serve no purpose anger and panic do. Only reason, awareness, calm." He turned to Skywalker with an expectant expression. "Raise the ship you must."

Skywalker stared at the receding form of the Falcon with an apprehensive expression.

"What?" exclaimed Han. "You expect him to pull her out with his bare hands?"

"With the Force," Yoda corrected.

"Your silly mind magic?" Han retorted. "Look, moving rocks is one thing, but this is entirely different..."

"Only different in your mind," Yoda interrupted. "Size matters not."

Skywalker took a deep breath. "All right, I'll try..."

"No!" chided Yoda. "Try not! Do or do not. There is no try."

Skywalker nodded obediently, then shut his eyes and extended a hand, as if directing some unseen energy at the swiftly sinking Falcon. His features tautened in concentration, and his fingers clenched slightly as he focused. Yoda watched his student intently, only the very tips of his long ears quivering. Even the droids were silent.

The Falcon shuddered, then slowly began to rise. Han felt his mouth fall open. It couldn't be...

Skywalker gasped suddenly, as if he'd been holding his breath, and the freighter sank beneath the surface of the slimy water. Han smirked a little to himself. Must've been an underwater spring or some kind of geothermal activity. Or whatever Yoda had rigged here had been overwhelmed by the sheer size of the Falcon.

"I can't," Skywalker panted. "It's too big..."

"Only in your mind," Yoda said again. "Again. Lift it."

"Give it a rest, Yoda," Han advised. He turned to Skywalker. "Word of advice, kid -- hokey religions are no match for a good blaster by your side and a good ship underfoot. Forget the Force nonsense and let's see if we can send a rescue beacon or something..."

Pain erupted in his leg again, and he fell to one knee.

"Will you stop doing that?" he howled. "Chewie, why aren't you stopping him?"

Yoda waved his cane in front of Han's face. "Enough out of you, young Solo. If wish to deny the Force you do, so be it. But decide for himself let Skywalker."

Han got to his feet with a snarl. "You want the impossible out of him, don't you? Why not ask him to telekinetically haul this entire planet to Imperial Center while you're at it? If this Force of you is supposedly so powerful that size doesn't matter..."

Yoda silenced Han by rapping him a third time on the shin with his cane, not as hard as the previous two times but still hard enough to sting. "What Skywalker sees in you I do not know. But necessary you are to the overthrow of Vader and the Emperor, so teach you also I must."

"What, am I gonna start meditating and chucking rocks around with my mind?"

"Strong in the Force you are not. But a few lessons in humility and wisdom you could use." He raised a clawed hand and pointed it toward the bubbling waters where the Falcon had just sunk. "For your benefit, not Skywalker's, this is."

Han opened his mouth to say something... only to snap it shut again as the waters churned and frothed as if some legendary sea beast were rising from the muck. A forked bow thrust itself above the surface, followed by a disc-shaped body that dripped with swamp water and trailed stringy plant matter from every bump and projection in its surface like a coat of shaggy green hair. Skywalker gaped and Chewie and the droids exclaimed their awe as the Falcon loomed overhead, engines silent, gliding gently along as if an invisible crane were lifting it through the air.

Yoda lowered his hand with a serene expression, and the Falcon came to rest with a soft bump in shallower water.

Artoo squealed in delight.

"What do you mean 'do it again?'" demanded Threepio. "Once was more than enough, thank you very much. Oooh, my logic processor..."

Han blinked. "I don't believe it."

Yoda smiled. "Still need more evidence, do you?"

Han gave Yoda an irritated look before squelching off toward the Falcon.

"Why is he always so difficult?" asked Skywalker, frowning.

"In his nature it is. But do nothing about it can you." He gestured toward the rock piles. "Continue this exercise we shall."

_Break..._

"That's it," huffed Hobbie, slumping into a chair. "I give up."

"We can't give up," insisted Wedge. "We have to keep looking..."

"We've been on twenty planets," Hobbie grumped. "We've barely escaped five Imperial convoys, we've been chased off seven worlds by stormtroopers, we've had no less than ten attacks on our persons by trigger-happy bounty hunters, and by the way Biggs, that ex-girlfriend of yours on Bespin's a real witch."

"We were in the Academy together," Biggs corrected. "We never dated."

"Not to hear her talk."

"Don't believe everything you hear from her. Besides, I had no idea we'd run into her."

The three Rogue pilots, dressed in civilian garb they had "borrowed" from a trio of drunks passed out in an alley, sat at a battered table in a hole-in-the-wall dive on Apatros, sipping cheap drinks and discussing their next course of action. Hobbie was all for abandoning the mission and returning to the base, while Wedge wanted to keep searching. Biggs supposed he was somewhere in the middle -- he felt doing a planet-to-planet search was completely pointless, yet he didn't want to abandon the search for Skywalker. He just wanted to find a different means to do so. If they could only uncover some sort of clue...

"I think we're going about this the wrong way," he told the others. "There's no way three pilots can visit every Outer Rim planet and search for a Jedi or a runaway Rogue. We'll never find Skywalker that way."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" asked Wedge.

"We've guessed that he went looking for a Jedi to complete his training. What I suggest we do is look for information on the Jedi and find out which ones are definitley dead and which ones are simply listed as 'missing.' Then we try to figure out where those Jedi might have gone and go from there."

"Oh, THAT'S practical," grumped Hobbie. "Just because info on the Jedi's forbidden to the public..."

"Shut up, Hobbie," Wedge snapped. "I don't hear YOU coming up with any brilliant ideas..."

The bar suddenly buzzed with activity, and the three young men looked up to see every patron, server, and bartender look up at the holoscreen that almost entirely filled one wall of the establishment. A few seconds ago the screen had been alive with footage of an illegal podrace on Malastare; now the Imperial insignia filled the screen, glaring like a harsh all-seeing eye into the bar. The three pilots shrank involuntarily in their seats, as if afraid that the eye would catch sight of them and report back to the Empire...

"What's going on?" someone at the bar demanded. "They're interrupting the race!"

"Some kind of big announcement from Imperial Central," the bartender muttered. "Mabye they finally caught the Rebels."

The insignia vanished, replaced with the image of a woman standing behind a podium, no doubt addressing an audience in Imperial Square. Behind her, a row of Imperial generals and Grand Moffs stood at attention in full dress uniform, with the menacing obsidion hulk of Vader looming just to her side. A shimmer of white armor flashed at the very edges of the screen indicating the presence of a stormtrooper guard, most likely for ceremonial purposes.

But it was the face of the woman that held the Rogue pilots in a thrall of horror.

"It's Leia!" hissed Hobbie.

"Sith on a stick," whispered Biggs in a stunned voice. "Are they going to publicly execute her or something?"

Wedge shushed them both, his eyes never leaving the screen.

Leia began to speak, her voice calm and emotionless, her face carefully composed. "Citizens of the Empire, I am Princess Leia Organa, former Senator of Alderaan. There have been reports that I have been involved in terrorist activities with the Rebel Alliance. I am here to announce that yes, these rumors are factual. However, they are a thing of the past. I have since reconsidered my loyalties and publicly declare my loyalty to the Empire."

The three pilots felt their jaws nearly hit the table.

"I chose to announce this publicly because I also wish to extend a message to the Rebel Alliance whom I once served. I ask you now to lay down your weapons and end this destructive war against the Empire. It serves no purpose other than to shed the blood of innocents and restrict the freedom of everyday citizens who want nothing more than to live their lives in peace. The Empire is willing to grant amnesty toward any Rebels who wish to leave the Rebellion and cease to perpetuate this pointless conflict. Let us work together to heal and better the galaxy, not struggle between ourselves to tear it apart."

Wedge opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally finding his voice again. "I can't believe I just heard that. From her!"

"You don't think Vader coerced her into it, do you?" asked Biggs.

"More like tortured her into it," Hobbie pointed out. "This is VADER we're talking about, after all."

"All I know is that didn't sound like the Princess we all know," Wedge stated. "I agree that she couldn't have said that of her own free will. Whether she's brainwashed or they used torture or blackmail on her I can't say, but all I know is that she never would have made that announcement on her own."

Hobbie stood. "Who votes for rescuing the Princess?"

"Say what?" demanded Biggs.

"Oh come on! The reason Skywalker took off was to rescue his sister! And we know where Leia is, which is more than we can say about the Tusken wannabe..."

"Three X-wing pilots against Corusant's security measures?" Wedge pointed out. "We're not supermen, Hobbie."

"We can at least try," Hobbie insisted. "And who knows? Maybe we'll run into Skywalker on the way."

"I agree!" Biggs exclaimed. "Wedge, you with us?"

Wedge sighed. "I think it's suicidal, but I also think it's less insane than what we've already been doing."

"C'mon," Hobbine insisted, all but dragging his wingmates out. "We have a princess to rescue."

_Break..._

Leia stepped down from the podium and allowed a Grand Moff to take her place. She did not look at anyone as she swept past the assembled Imperial leaders and toward the waiting shuttle.

"You did well, Leia," Vader told her, falling into step beside her. "Well indeed. With any luck the Rebellion will heed your words and see the pointlessness of this conflict..."

Leia didn't look at him, but her voice betrayed her heartbreak. "Just remember, _Father, _that I have just turned my back on the cause I've given half my life to. I hope you're happy."

He didn't answer, only boarded the shuttle behind her. She had her mother's passionate nature, that was certain. That could be a burden or an asset, depending on how he worked it. And given time, he was certain the sting of her loss would ebb.

_I have Leia now, _he thought with a smile. _And soon Luke will join me. I promised her I would not pursue him... but given time, he will come to me. I am certain of it._

The shuttle rose into the air, unfolding its wings and streaking away in the direction of Vader's palace. So far all was going according to plan.

_Break..._

Wind-Dancer carefully took the whimpering child from the tribe's healer and gently covered his face before handing him to Storm-Chaser. "Congratulations, sister. You have a son."

Storm-Chaser gasped in exhausted relief as she took her child into her arms.

Star-Thief looked on approvingly. "The moons shall watch over this child," she murmured. "He is blessed to share his blood with our sisterhood. May he grow to be a proud warrior for our tribe."

The Daughters of the Moons were gathered in a temporary encampment half a day's journey from the main camp, accompanied by the healer and a handful of guards. Tradition called for a birthing camp to be at least a day's journey from the rest of the tribe, but Chief Stone-Shadow had insisted the Daughters stay close to the camp. Trouble was brewing, he told them, and he wanted to ensure that no member of the tribe was placed in danger. Also, a situation might arise requiring the services of a Daughter, and he wanted them within hailing distance if necessary.

While the healer cleaned up after the birth and the other Daughters gathered around Storm-Chaser to admire the child, Star-Thief pulled Wind-Dancer aside to speak with her.

"Have you sensed anything more regarding your brother?" she asked.

Wind-Dancer shook her head. "Nothing. I don't know whether he simply has not been in peril since or if he is too far away for me to sense anything."

Star-Thief nodded. "If anything were to happen to him, you would feel it. Distance is no barrier to the spirits."

"Do you think the Black One has discovered him yet?"

"Who is to say? We won't know that until we see Sky-Walker again..."

Angry murmuring from outside the tent interrupted the Eldest Daughter, and Star-Thief and Wind-Dancer turned to face the entrance of the tent as a gnarled hand pulled the flap back. Wind-Dancer gasped as a cold wave of power swept over her, defiled and stinking like an exhumed corpse. She steadied herself only with difficulty.

"Daughters of the Moons," rasped a sinister voice.

"Palpatine," Star-Thief hissed. "Outsider you may be, but surely you know that it is sacrilige to enter a birthing camp without invitation."

"Ah, but I have received invitation," the dark-robed being grinned, waving a hand to his right.

Star-Thief tensed as White-Serpent appeared at Palpatine's side. "Eldest Son, you have no right to do this," she snarled.

"I have every right," he retorted. "I am a Son of the Suns. I foresee the future. I have power you could only dream of weilding. And I have had enough of your blatant attempts to exert your authority over the camp. The Sons of the Suns no longer bow to your will, Eldest Daughter. Rather, you will bow to ours."

Someone in the back of the tent laughed disdainfully. Star-Thief quieted them with a gesture.

"Your chief is already suspicious of your activities," Palpatine pointed out. "You were ordered to destroy a night-demon, were you not? And yet you allowed him to live and even helped him escape the camp."

Wind-Dancer felt her gut tighten. How did he know...

"And you say you work in the best interests of the tribe," White-Serpent said with a rueful shake of his head.

"Rot in darkness, White-Serpent," snapped Star-Thief. "He was no night-demon, but an outsider. And to kill him would have brought the outsiders' wrath upon our heads..."

A deep, booming laugh, and another figure appeared in the doorway of the tent -- the splendidly robed figure of Shadow-Blade, the leader of Serpent Tribe's Sons of the Suns.

"The Daughters of the Moons have grown far too secure in their power, have they not?" Shadow-Blade said amusedly, glancing at his compatriots. "I say it is time they were taught a lesson in who is the REAL power behind the tribe."

Star-Thief raised her staff and strode forward. "Unless you want a cracked skull, Shadow-Blade, get out of this tent now..."

Palpatine raised his hand as if to push her away... and a jolt of blue light arced between him and the Eldest Daughter. Star-Thief froze, jerked once where she stood, and collapsed. The Daughters cried out in horror.

"What have you done?" cried Wind-Dancer, bending down and touching Star-Thief's throat. There was no pulse; whatever Palpatine had done, it had stopped her heart.

Shadow-Blade laughed throatily and stepped forward, grabbing Wind-Dancer by the back of the neck and hoisting her to her feet.

"Take the rest of the Sisterhood back to camp," he ordered. "We'll decide just how to break them later. But this one... we have plans for her, don't we?"

"Yes," Palpatine said with a horrible smile. "Great plans indeed."


	23. Against All Odds

**Chapter 23 -- Against All Odds**

_One... he was one with the landscape... one with the damp earth beneath his hands, at last given a respite, a chance to breathe, after the rainstorms... one with the trees looming overhead, ancient guaridians of this pristine world... one with the insects clouding the air, alighting on the bare skin of his arms and face as if to pay this stranger to their domain a quick visit... one with this life-rich planet and all it harbored..._

_His senses pulsed outward, unfurling like wings through the blackness of space that surrounded Dagobah, brushing asteroids and stars and satellites, seeking and feeling... familiar presences pulsed here and there, and he focused, curious, on a few of them... one torn and conflicted, forced to choose between parent and kin... the other..._

_Pain... searing, ripping pain flooding through his nerves, driving the breath from his lungs... pulses of light flashing behind his eyelids, blood roaring in his ears..._

"No!" Skywalker jerked out of his trance -- only to hit the muddy ground as he lost his balance, and with it the handstand-pose Yoda had instructed him to assume. The containers and stones he had been carefully arranging collapsed all around him, and Artoo, who had found himself levitated along with everything else, landed with a squeal in a tangle of vines.

Yoda shook his head ruefully. "Control. You must learn control..."

"Hold it," Han advised, climbing down from the Falcon and jogging toward the Jedi Master. "What's going on? What just happened?"

"Sister," whimpered Skywalker, not bothering to get up out of the mud. "Pain... fear... suffering..."

"The princess?" Han asked.

"No. Wind-Dancer."

"Huh?" Han was full of intelligent retorts today.

"Wind-Dancer was the name of his adoptive sister on Tatooine," Threepio supplied. "A pleasant enough woman, if somewhat eccentric..."

"What you saw tell us," Yoda ordered in a gentle tone.

Skywalker climbed to his feet. "I saw... Wind-Dancer. Our Sons of the Suns... our priests, holy men... they were holding her down... there was a man in black before her... lightning poured from his hands..." He shuddered at the memory of that ghastly creature's face -- twisted, decrepit, wild with a savage glee...

Yoda nodded. "As I feared it is. Escalating the battle Lord Sidious is."

"Who's Lord Sidious?" asked Han.

"The true name of Emperor Palpatine it is," Yoda explained. "The Sith name."

"Sith?" repeated Skywalker.

"Darth Sidious and Darth Vader Dark Lords of the Sith are," explained Yoda. "Servants of the dark side, live only for conquest and power do they. Destroyed the Republic and the Jedi they did."

"That doesn't explain why the Emperor would bother with Sandpeople," Han replied.

Yoda gazed off into the trees, his features gravely thoughtful. Skywalker felt as if an icy hand were gripping his guts. What was his master thinking... and what would it mean to his foster sister?

"Master..." he began hesitantly. "Will she die?"

Yoda pressed his lips together in a grim line. "Always in motion is the future," he said quietly, almost as if reminding himself of that fact rather than relating it to Skywalker. Then he turned to regard his student. "Seek to leave, do you? To rescue your sister? Think do you that a match for a Sith you are?"

"What is he supposed to do, though?" demanded Han. "Let the psycho kill her? You want him to stay here and ignore this warning? And here the old stories said you Jedi were compassionate!"

Yoda smiled a little. "Suddenly quite accepting you are of premonitions in the Force, Solo."

"That's beside the point," Han snapped. "My point is why can't he at least try? I can go with him and guard his back. The two of us can take on a crazy old man, Sith or not..."

"Overconfident you are, Solo," Yoda told him. "A grave weakness that is. The downfall of the Jedi it was -- and your downfall it will be if attack Sidious now you do. Not ready for this battle are the two of you."

Skywalker gazed up into the sky. A thick blanket of clouds obscured the night sky, but he couldn't help but picture the stars beyond Dagobah, the endless reaches of space where the two women he called sisters were now beyond his reach. Leia a captive of the Black One, Wind-Dancer suffering at the Emperor's hands... and here he was throwing rocks around! The Jedi in him urged patience, urged him to continue his training that he might be better prepared to take on the Sith, but the Tusken in him screamed for action, enraged that he was essentially doing nothing when members of his tribe -- his family! -- were in grave danger.

"Yoda," said Skywalker at last, "I have to help Wind-Dancer. I can't let her die. It's not the Tusken way."

Yoda's ears jerked once, as if trying to be sure of what they had just picked up. "Skywalker, Tusken you are not..."

"My blood may be outsider," Skywalker retorted. "But I have Tusken in my spirit. I have learned much from the outsiders, but most of all I've learned that their way is not always the best way... and that I cannot abandon everything I have learned from my people." He met his master's gaze confidently, maybe a little defiantly. "We do not abandon members of our tribe. Not when we can do something to help. Nor do we forsake ties of blood. I go to help her. I will return and finish what I have begun... but I must help my sister."

Han clapped his shoulder with a grin. "Finally a little common sense prevails here! I'll go prep the Falcon. Get together whatever you need and go haul Artoo out of the weeds, then we'll go. Chewie, give me a hand! Goldenrod, make yourself useful!"

"Oh bother," Threepio huffed, sounding rather miffed. "Just when I think I've gotten used to a planet..."

Yoda lowered his head with a defeated sigh. "Go if you must, Skywalker. But if follow through with this fool's venture you do, know that I cannot help you until you return."

"Yes, Master," Skywalker replied. A sudden weight of apprehension formed in his gut -- was he truly doing the right thing? But he pushed it aside. He had not been able to help Leia... but perhaps he could help Wind-Dancer. Perhaps he could set some things right for his tribe.

"Remember, fear, anger, aggression, vengeance, passion... the dark side are they. Fall not on them for aid, or suffer Vader's fate you will. Trust in the Force, follow its guidance. And good luck."

"I thought you Jedi said there was no such thing as luck," Han quipped, ducking into the Falcon.

Yoda glared after the smuggler. "And that one's back watch. His mouth the death of him may be someday."

Skywalker nodded. "I'll look after him. I promise."

Yoda clasped his hand. "May the Force be with you."

"And you, Master. I will return and complete my training. I swear it."

_Break..._

Leia shot upright in her bed, the blankets a tangled mass around her, her throat raw from screaming. She gasped for air, one hand on her chest as if trying to manually slow down her pounding heart. Skywalker... there was danger...

The door to her quarters opened, and her sudden burst of terror gave way to anger. "You can knock, you know."

"You sensed it as well," Vader told her, ignoring her comment. "You sensed something amiss regarding your brother."

She glowered at the Dark Lord. "It's no business of yours. You promised to leave him alone."

"If my son is in danger, then I shall renounce that promise if I see fit," he replied. "Or would you rather I kept the promise and Skywalker was injured?"

"Stop twisting my words!"

"It is you who is doing the twisting, Leia," Vader countered. "What did you feel?"

She looked away from him. If she refused to answer him, maybe he would leave.

"You sensed a threat to Skywalker," he answered for her. "He is not yet in danger... but it is only a matter of time." Vader inclined his head toward her. "Am I not correct?"

"Go, then," she hissed finally. "Go after him. He thinks you're evil, a monster, and he'll try to kill you. Maybe then I'll be free of you."

Vader did not reply. What did he want of her anyway? He knew about her brother and now had nothing keeping him from seeking him out. Why didn't he simply go and leave her be?

"He will not come to me," Vader acknowledged. "But he will come for his sister."

She jerked her head around toward him. "What?"

"You will come with me, Leia. He will sense your presence and come to you. In that way, I will find him... and protect him from whatever menaces him."

"You can't be serious," she retorted.

"The Emperor is away on business," Vader continued. "Your meeting with him is postponed anyhow until he returns to Corusant. In the meantime, we have the time and opportunity to act on this premontion in the Force -- and we would be fools not to act upon it."

She opened her mouth to protest, but the chime of Vader's comm unit cut her off.

"What is it?" Vader demanded.

"M'lord." She could just make out the officer's voice. "Three men have been sighted at the gates to your palace. At least two of them bear a marked resemblance to known Rebel soldiers. Your orders?"

"I want them alive," Vader ordered.

"Yes, M'lord."

She felt her stomach drop. There was only one reason why members of the Alliance might be here...

"We will see to your friends from the Alliance first," Vader said with a positively gleeful note in his voice. "Then we shall depart for Tatooine at once."

_Break..._

"Now what?" demanded Hobbie, staring up at the impassive gates leading to Vader's castle.

"What do you mean 'now what?'" demanded Wedge. "This was your fraggin' idea!"

"Shut up," snapped Hobbie.

Biggs ignored his comrades and just stared up at the towering black edifice that housed the dreaded Sith Lord. They had done it. He had no idea why fortune or the Force had smiled upon them this long, but they had somehow made it to Imperial Center... and to Vader's fortress. At long last, he felt he had accomplished something in leaving Hoth to find Skywalker and Leia.

Getting into the fortress to rescue the princess... now that would be a tougher nut to crack.

"We could shoot a few stormtroopers and steal their armor," suggested Hobbie.

"Oh wow, why didn't I think of that first?" wondered Biggs aloud. "Oh, right -- because it's suicide."

"You got any better ideas?" snapped Hobbie.

That stumped him. "In the holovids, there's always a secret entrance -- through the garages or servants' quarters..."

"Ugh," Wedge groaned. "This isn't the holovids, Biggs. In real life shots hit their targets, punches cause bruises, and Vader's palace is not likely to have a secret passageway that conveniently leads to his throne room or the dungeons or any other strategic point."

"Okay, smarty, you got an idea?" demanded Biggs.

"There's bound to be a resistance cell on Corusant somewhere," Wedge pointed out. "If we find them, let them know what's going on..."

"And just how are you planning on finding them?" asked Hobbie. "Looking them up in a directory? Asking random people on the street? 'Excuse me, where might I find the nearest Rebel base?'"

"Your smart-alek comments aren't helping us," Wedge snapped. "C'mon, let's at least survey the area a little before we go find someplace to stay for awhile. I know a few places we can check first..."

A flash of white caught Biggs' eye, and he turned his head to see a cluster of stormtroopers jogging in their direction. Quietly deducing that they were most likely not on their way over to ask for directions, he discreetly slid one hand toward his blaster and cleared his throat to get the others' attention.

"What is... oh, son of a jumpin'..." began Wedge, reaching for his own weapon.

Hobbie opted for a different course of action -- instead of going for the gun, he headed for the hills. Wedge and Biggs ran after him, cursing all the while. The stormtroopers were right behind, shouting for the three to stop where they were and drop their weapons.

"Way to slap a 'Look, We're Rebels' sign on us, Hobbie!" shouted Wedge.

"If you wanna stick around and get shot, go ahead..." huffed Hobbie.

Another squadron of troopers fanned out in front of them, blocking their escape. The three pilots skidded to a halt, drawing their weapons and assuming battle stances.

"We have you surrounded," barked the squad leader, stating the blatantly obvious. "Lower your weapons to the ground and raise your hands over your heads..."

Biggs hadn't grown up on Tatooine without picking up a few things from the more colorful locals, and utilizing words and phrases from both Basic and Huttese he quite eloquently told the squad leader just what he could do with his weapon -- an action that was most likely physically impossible, not to mention exquisitely painful. In his mind, the snigger he elicited from the other troops was more than worth the armored fist he got upside the jaw in return.

"Watch your mouth, Rebel scum," came the retort. "You and your friends are hereby under arrest. And the only reason I don't shoot you now for your filthy mouth is because Lord Vader wants to see you personally..."


	24. Convergence of Paths

**Chapter 24 -- Convergence of Paths**

_Somebody please pinch me, _thought Wedge, fighting the urge to squirm in his seat. _This is a horrible nightmare, I'm still lying in the barracks of Echo Base having a nightmare, I'm going to wake up soon and Hobbie'll be snoring and Skywalker'll still be here and we'll never have gone on this insane journey..._

Wedge normally wasn't this terrified... but then, he normally wasn't seated before the Dark Lord of the Sith awaiting whatever fate he had in store for him and his comrades.

Some tiny portion of his mind boggled a little at the fact that they were sitting in an office in Darth Vader's palace. Strange, that -- one thought of Vader having a throne room perhaps, but not something as perfectly mundane as an office. Though this didn't appear to be the Dark Lord's office specifically -- perhaps it belonged to a lackey and Vader had simply found it a convenient meeting place. At least Vader wasn't further trying to blow a few fuses in Wedge's brain by actually sitting behind the desk. Rather, he paced the room like a caged animal, his every move slow and deliberate, the hiss and whoosh of his respirator filling the room and drowning out all other sound save the pounding in Wedge's ears.

"So the Rebellion sends a task force of three soldiers to rescue one of its leaders," Vader noted, and if Wedge didn't know any better he could have sworn he heard a definite amused tone to the Dark Lord's words. "They are either fools or greatly overconfident." He paused and regarded the three of them with a cold black stare. "Unless you are here without the authorization of your superiors."

Hobbie gave a little squeak from beside Wedge, as if trying to protest.

"So you _are _acting against Alliance orders," noted Vader, and Wedge wondered just how the Dark Lord figured that out. "You cannot accept that she serves the Empire now and must launch a suicide mission to find her and try to sway her back to your side..."

"We can't believe she'd join the Empire without being coerced, my Lord," Biggs told the Dark Lord, face taut with nervousness but little fear. Wedge was impressed. Biggs certainly knew how to act under pressure -- no doubt his upbringing on the harsh world of Tatooine had something to do with that. Privately he made a note to point this out to High Command if -- _when! _-- they made it back to the Alliance.

"She is not being coerced in the slightest," Vader informed them.

Hobbie snorted as if he'd been about to laugh and thought better of it. Vader leveled a glower at him, and Hobbie clutched wildly at his throat and gagged. Wedge's heart thudded louder, and he had a wild urge to charge the Dark Lord and save Hobbie, even if such an action meant his death...

"Restrain yourself, Rebel," Vader snarled, and Hobbie slumped with a gasp -- no doubt this was the Dark Lord's version of letting Hobbie off with a warning. "And if it's proof you desire of the princess' loyalty to the Empire -- without coersion -- then you shall have it." He gestured at the troops guarding the door, and two of them nodded and ducked out of the room.

Vader resumed his pacing, leaving the three Rebels to squirm in their seats. Hobbie rubbed his throat and gave the Sith a look of utter terror. Biggs sat quietly, though his normally tanned skin looked rather pale and his hands clenched the arms of his chair. Wedge finally had to sit on his hands to keep from fidgeting nervously, to chaos with how strange he looked doing such...

The door hissed open again, and a familiar woman in a wine-red gown entered the room.

"Princess!" Wedge blurted. "You're all right!"

Relief flooded Leia's features, relief just as quickly replaced with puzzlement. "Antilles, Darklighter, Klivian!" She looked ready to dash forward and embrace the three of them, but restrained herself. "Lord Vader, what are they doing here?"

"They are my captives, Princess," Vader informed her. "Would you rather I had them executed?"

She glowered at him.

"Princess, what's going on?" asked Wedge, his relief at seeing her alive and unharmed giving him the courage to speak. "Why did you leave the Alliance? If you weren't coerced... have you truly changed sides?"

An expression that passed too quickly for him to identify -- Terror? Anger? Sorrow? -- crossed her face before she assumed a calm demeanor. "It is a personal matter, Antilles."

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Hobbie -- obviously Vader's lesson hadn't sunk in the first time around. "Why can't you tell us? What's made you turn traitor all of a sudden?"

She didn't reply, only lowered her head.

"Tell them the truth, your Highness," ordered Vader. "Or should I say... my daughter?"

Hobbie, who had been about to launch into another tirade, snapped his mouth shut with a startled squeak. Biggs jerked bolt upright, shock suffusing his features. Wedge, for his part, felt as if he'd just been punched in the gut by a Wookie. It couldn't be...

Leia turned red and glowered at Vader. "How could you..."

"Are you ashamed of your heritage, my daughter?" inquired Vader. "You have no reason to be."

"Wait," Biggs said with a frown, his brow furrowed as he pieced a few bits of information together. "If Vader's your father... and Skywalker's your brother... that makes..."

Wedge was thankful he was sitting down already, or he may have fallen over from the shock. Skywalker's father was Darth Vader! And the daughter of Vader had been leading the Alliance all this time...

"Wedge," Leia said quietly, addressing him informally for the first time, "I pledged my loyalty to the Empire only because he would have hunted my brother down. I couldn't let him turn Skywalker to his side."

Wedge nodded in reply. That was a believable, understandable explanation for her changing sides, one he could accept.

"Circumstances have changed, however," Vader rumbled, breaking in on their conversation. "Skywalker is in danger; we must seek him out immediately." He turned to the three Rebels. "I sense the three of you consider Skywalker a friend. Thus, I will grant you a pardon under one condition -- you accompany Leia and I to Tatooine."

"Tatooine?" repeated Hobbie stupidly. "What in blazes is he doing there?"

"That is no matter," Vader replied. "Skywalker will not come to me... but he will come for his friends and family. And he will accept your aid more readily than mine."

Wedge frowned. "What if we decide not to accompany you?"

"You have no choice in the matter," Vader thundered, and the stormtroopers at the door moved to surround Leia and the Rogue pilots. "Take them to the shuttle. If they resist, stun them. But do not harm them."

_Break..._

Wind-Dancer glanced sharply up as the hide hanging over the cavern door was flung aside, admitting a stream of blinding white sunlight that made a blurred silouhette of the being entering. Another Son of the Suns? Or the vile demon who had entered their camp and charmed the chieftan and Eldest Sun into accepting his influence? Either one could only mean pain... pain without purpose, or at least any purpose she was able to discern...

She growled low in her throat and clenched her teeth beneath her tattered veil, her wrists straining against the metal bands that had been bolted into the stone wall to hold her in place. Even in the darkness of her makeshift cell she knew blood stained her gloves and arm wrappings, spilled from the wounds she had created in her desperate bids to break free of her bonds. If this coward thought she was going to take whatever torture he was prepared to deal her without a fight, he was sorely mistaken...

"Wind-Dancer," the being addressed her, letting the hide fall. Darkness did not entirely descend, however, for he carried a clay oil lamp in one hand to light the cavern a little.

"Light-Drinker," she snarled. "So White-Serpent can no longer be bothered with me, but must send his underling? I expected more of the brotherhood. They certainly hold themselves above the rest of the tribe..."

"White-Serpent doesn't know I'm here," the young Son of the Suns replied, setting the lamp down.

"So you wish to strike a blow toward the Daughters for yourself?"

Light-Drinker sighed. "Can't you shut your mouth and just listen to me?"

"The Sons have never wanted to listen to the Daughters before," she retorted. "Why should we listen to you now?"

"Because events are spinning even beyond our control." He slid something out of the sleeve of his robe and held it before her -- a knife. Not a crude blade of stone or scrap metal, but an outsider weapon, its blade polished and sharpened to rival a dragon's claw and the ebony hilt decorated with tiny red gemstones that glittered in the lamplight.

"You will kill me," she observed. "You will break the sacred vows that prevent you from taking up arms and slay an innocent. Do you know no shame?"

"I'm not going to kill you. I'm here to help you."

"Then you will offer me a means to end my torment by my own hand," she countered. "You think I am that weak?"

"No," he replied. "I do not think you are that weak. And the blade is not intended for your death." He raised the weapon and began prying at her restraints.

She stared at him, unable to comprehend just what he was doing. "Light-Drinker, if your brothers find out what you are doing..."

"They are my brothers no longer," spat Light-Drinker, working the blade beneath the metal band and trying to lever it loose from the stone. "They are corrupt, power-hungry, making bargains with the Serpent Tribe's blasphemous priests... and with a being who's far more evil than even the night-demon. For I've heard it whispered what Palpatine intends, and it will mean the enslavement of our kind, if not extinction. He thrives on power, unlimited power, and no act is too base, too hideous, for him."

One bolt popped free, and she slid her hand from the loosened bond. Light-Drinker flopped down onto the ground, panting from exertion. The Sons of the Suns' lives of self-denial and inactivity did not lend themselves well to physical exertions, and an action that meant nothing to a warrior or hunter could wear them out quickly.

"What is Palpatine's intention?" she asked. "What business does he have with the tribe?"

"He wants Sky-Walker," Light-Drinker replied. "He has convinced the chief that the Daughters of the Moons are corrupt and have turned to serving the Black One. He has promised the chief the death of the Black One in exchange for Sky-Walker... and he has promised the Sons of the Suns the downfall of the Daughters of the Moons in exchange for their aid."

Wind-Dancer jerked, the breath fleeing her lungs as surely as if Light-Drinker had just taken a staff to her gut. Her brother...

"I may be young," Light-Drinker said firmly, standing and picking up the knife again to work on the bond on her other arm. "But I believe in the balance provided by the Sons and the Daughters. One cannot function without the contrasting power of the other, just as the light cannot shine without the contrast of the darkness. The Sons would see the Daughters dragged down and their light dulled to satisfy their own desires, not knowing they are blackening themselves in the process. If this continues..." He didn't go on, but then, he didn't need to.

"We must protect Sky-Walker," Wind-Dancer told the young Son. "He is the only one who can cast away the darkness that overshadows the tribe. But he is no longer on Tatooine, which makes our task all the more difficult..."

"He comes," Light-Drinker cut in, wrenching hard to pry the bond off. "The Sons had a vision this morning -- Sky-Walker returns. He returns to Tatooine... and the Black One follows. Both will fall into Palpatine's trap if we do nothing."

The bolt popped out of the wall, and Wind-Dancer pulled her other hand free, carefully lifting the bloodied glove to examine the wounded wrist. Thankfully it wasn't severe, though she would need to bind it soon to keep the sand out. Light-Drinker fell back with a cry, and with a start she saw the knife had slipped as he had worked to free her, gashing his arm open. Quickly she knelt by his side, ripping a strip from the hem of her robe and tying it above the wound to halt the bleeding.

"Get to the healer as soon as possible," she ordered.

"But... but..." he spluttered in distress. "But they will know I have broken my vows! My hands have touched a weapon..."

She sighed and rolled her eyes under her veil. Trust a Son of the Suns to be more upset over being caught breaking a vow than about a serious injury. "Tell her you came to the cavern to question me, and that I broke free and wounded you before fleeing. That should allay their suspicions."

His head tilted backward in a startled expression. "Then they will pursue and kill you!"

"They will not kill me," she told him. "It's obvious they want me alive, that my pains will bring my brother here. As for pursuing me... am I not a Daughter of the Moons, familiar with the perils and the shadows of the night? I can evade pursuit easily."

He nodded, still looking terrified. "I shall tell them you went deeper into the Wastes, to seek out sanctuary with the Sharpstone Tribe. But... where will you go?"

"Mos Eisley."

"Among outsiders?" he gawked.

"You forget I am familiar with their ways," she told him. "I can meet Sky-Walker there and warn him. You, meanwhile, must do your part to help the tribe resist the influence of Palpatine. His machinations will spell our ruin if we do not stop him."

He nodded. "I'll do it."

"Good." She picked up the knife and slid it into her belt. "Go now, before Palpatine returns. Moons watch over you."

"Suns be with you."

_Break..._

At least one opinion of Skywalker's hadn't changed since he had left Tatooine so long ago -- he still despised Jawas. And at the moment, Jedi or not, he wanted to squeeze this one around the neck until his glowing yellow eyes popped out of their sockets.

"He says that Obi-wan Kenobi sold the bantha to them fair and square," Threepio translated. "If you wish them to return Cyclone to you, he insists you reimburse his tribe."

"Tell him we'll take it out of his hide," Han advised.

"No, don't tell them that," Skywalker countered, rubbing his eyes annoyedly. "That will just scare them off, and they're very good at hiding. We'll have to search the entire Dune Sea to find them."

Coming back to Tatooine had been relatively easy -- no Imperials had harrassed them, the Falcon had miraculously gone an entire journey without breaking down somehow, and the lone bounty hunter that had trailed them through the Mid-Rim had stupidly run into an asteroid during the brief chase. Han had absolutely refused to land in Mos Eisley, citing a lingering argument with a crime lord, and Skywalker had reluctantly conceded, pointing out a ravine where they could land the Falcon without attracting too much attention from the natives. Tracking down the Jawas that had been tending his bantha all this time had been harder, for Obi-wan had never given Skywalker the name of the particular band he'd entrusted him to. They had been forced to visit each band and inquire of their leaders, praying the sly little rodents wouldn't lie to them in order to keep the beast. By some stroke of good fortune the third clan they visited had admitted that Ob-wan had been by... but they maintained that he had sold the bantha to them, and they demanded repayment before giving him up.

"Master Skywalker, why not just give them what they request?" inquired Threepio, obviously as eager to get away from these creatures as Skywalker was. "It is not a large sum..."

"Obi-wan would never have sold Cyclone," Skywalker insisted. "And I sense the Jawa's dishonesty. I won't let him cheat us."

"Just let Chewie do the negotiating," Han suggested. "We'll have your bantha back and be out of here a whole lot quicker."

Chewie growled.

"Oh, when did you grow a conscience, fuzzball?" demanded Han.

One of the Jawas -- a young one, judging by his less filthy robes and shorter stature -- skittered forward and reached out with a grubby hand to caress Artoo's plating covetously. Artoo squealed indignantly, like a woman who's just had a crass suitor touch her posterior, and he retaliated by jabbing a strange tool out of a panel on his front. A weird _snap _and a flash of blue-white electricity filled the air, and the Jawa bolted with a pained yowl. Skywalker patted his dome in quiet congratulations and turned to face the leader again.

"Threepio," he said with a smile, an idea beginning to form in his mind, "tell him that if he doesn't return the bantha, I'll get angry and use my magic."

"But Master Skywalker, what magic?" demanded Threepio.

"Just tell him."

Threepio hesitated, then relayed the message to the Jawa leader. His reaction was immediate -- he doubled over and practically bubbled with hysterical laughter.

"Careful, kid," Han warned. "Don't overdo it."

"I won't," Skywalker promised, and he turned to focus his attention on the line of animals picketed in a patch of desert scrub some twenty meters from the Jawas' sandcrawler. He knew for a fact the sandcrawler was beyond his abilities, but perhaps a good-sized creature? Cyclone stood at the very end of the line, grabbing at a patch of dry grass... but no, he wouldn't risk harming his own bantha. The eopie? Too small. The dewback? Too liable to panic. Ah, the very creature...

The Jawas gathered about the sandcrawler -- tending to the animals, repairing or cleaning droids, working on the exterior of their vehicle-dwelling, standing around watching the exchange between the strangers and their leader -- scattered with terrified shrieks as the ronto rose in the air, hanging as if suspended by an invisible cord from the sky. Some collapsed on the spot like tents with their supports cut, while a few brave souls darted forward and grabbed at the beast's tether, trying in vain to pull it back to earth. The ronto itself simply chewed placidly on a scrap of dry vegetation, as if being levitated by a young Jedi apprentice were an everyday occurence for it.

The Jawa leader's eyes glowed even more brightly beneath his hood, and he chittered frantically, flailing his arms wildly about.

"He says they will gladly return your bantha to you, and will be quite happy to reimburse you for their use of the creature," Threepio translated. "His only request is that you not harm the ronto."

Skywalker shook his head. "We just want the bantha. Not his money." No use in abusing his power. Some part of him did find it rather funny that the Jawas, whom he had always considered lesser creatures than the Tuskens, had a better grasp of certain outsider concepts than the Tuskens -- namely currency and how ousider droids and artifacts worked.

The Jawas wouldn't even approach the bantha until Skywalker had set the ronto gently back down on the ground -- the beast kept on eating as if it had never been interrupted -- but as soon as it was safely grounded they couldn't untie Cyclone fast enough. The bantha lowed happily and hurried forward at a pace that was as close to a trot as a bantha could get, lowering his head to nuzzle at his rider. Skywalker leaned against Cyclone's side and buried his face in his hair. Stars and sands, it was good to be reunited with his friend.

Speaking of friends... "Han, Chewie, Threepio, mount up. We're leaving."

"Um..." Han regarded the bantha skeptically. "Never ridden a live mount before, kid."

"It isn't hard." Skywalker grabbed the saddle and pulled himself first onto Cyclone's offered knee, then onto his back. Settling himself on the creature's broad shoulders, he reached down to offer a hand to Han.

"Excuse me, but... I'm not constructed for climbing..." Threepio noted, looking about worriedly as the Jawas began to lay greedy glances on him.

Chewie barked, then grabbed Threepio by the waist and hefted him into the air, ignoring the droid's startled cries. One arm looped around Threepio, he used the other to grab hold of Cyclone's girth strap and hoist himself up the bantha's side. Skywalker grabbed Threepio's hands and helped pull him the rest of the way up. Satisfied that Threepio was safely aboard, Chewie grabbed Artoo and hefted him up similarly, though they ended up tying Artoo in place at the back of the saddle with the rest of their supplies, as he wasn't built for riding. Once the droids were secure, Chewie climbed aboard.

"Thanks, Chewie," Skywalker told him.

The Wookie barked good-naturedly and patted Skywalker's shoulder.

It took a few tries and a hard landing on his behind for Han to finally join the others, but at last everyone was atop the bantha. Skywalker gently flicked the reins and gave the "go" command -- had it really been so long since he had spoken Tusken aloud? -- and Cyclone snorted and shuffled off.

"So have you thought about just how you're going to rescue your sister?" demanded Han.

"I will decide what to do when I see what's going on," Skywalker replied.

Han snorted. "Tuskens must not be big on planning in advance."

Chewie growled.

"What do you mean 'look who's talking?'" Han demanded.

Skywalker ignored the exchange and focused on the horizon, urging Cyclone onward. He could feel the pain and suffering of his tribe... and of his sister. Never mind that he was outsider; never mind that blood seperated him from the Tuskens. They were still his people... and how heartless could he be to turn his back on them simply because he was human?

_I'm coming, Wind-Dancer! _he urged. _Hold on a little longer..._

_Break..._

The natives of Tatooine scattered in panic before the mounted figure that barreled through town, vacating the streets so quickly one might have thought a krayt dragon were rampaging through Mos Eisley. Shopkeepers abandoned their stalls, parents scooped up hysterical children and whisked them inside, and down one alleyway a pair of landspeeders and a rider astride a dewback got badly tangled up in their haste to escape. All the while a single cry rang through the air, both a warning to the populace and a plea from those with the power to help:

"Tusken attack! Tusken Raider in Mos Eisley!"

Wind-Dancer didn't even slow down. She kicked Slowfoot, urging the aging bantha forward at a pace he hadn't reached in many years. The beast moaned and panted as he ran, and she wanted desperately to apologize to him for putting him through such pain. But if she slowed now, they would be captured or worse. At all costs she had to reach the spaceport and warn Skywalker... even if it meant her eventual death.

A familiar presence burned in her mind, but it was not Skywalker. It was blacker, colder... protective? Enraged that harm was intended toward his son? Unexpected, this... but perhaps having Darth Vader around could be useful. If nothing else, it would distract Palpatine long enough to get Skywalker to safety.

Slowfoot barreled through one last alley, scattering a cluster of surprised Imperial soldiers and shattering a cheap plasteel barricade in the process, and emerged in a docking bay where an outsider ship was just touching down. The great vehicle folded its wings over its back like a butterfly before opening its maw to disgorge its passengers -- Vader, Leia, and a handful of stormtroopers who immediately leveled their weapons at her.

"Vader!" she exclaimed, reining Slowfoot to a halt.

"Hold your fire," Vader ordered his troops. At least he seemed to recognize her...

Slowfoot whined, then sagged to the side. Wind-Dancer flung herself from his back just as he collapsed, his great sides heaving with one last breath before he went ominously still. The ride had been too much for his old heart to handle.

Leia ran to the great beast's side, resting a hand on his silvery brow. "Wind-Dancer..."

The Daughter of the Moons ran her fingers through a hank of gray hair. "He was old when I chose him as my mount," she explained. "His last rider had been a dragon hunter who had mistreated him badly. I doubt Slowfoot mourned his death. He has since lived in peace, and his life was long. The spirits will watch over him."

"You took a great risk in coming here, Wind-Dancer," Vader noted, disregarding the bantha.

Leia glanced up sharply. "You know him?" she demanded.

"Our tribe captured him shortly after you departed, Leia," Wind-Dancer told her. "I helped him escape. Would you have me kill Skywalker's father?"

Leia frowned but didn't reply.

"We have come to aid Skywalker," Vader continued. "I have sensed that he is in danger."

Wind-Dancer nodded. "Indeed he is. But I must explain on the journey there. We must hurry if we are to beat Skywalker back to the tribe."

"The danger lies with your tribe?" Vader inquired threateningly.

"With a serpent that has infiltrated the tribe," she replied. "A being who will destroy us in his mad quest."

"Who?" asked Leia, worry creasing her brow.

Wind-Dancer's reply was enough to stun Vader into complete silence: "He is called Palpatine."


	25. Serpent In the Camp

**Chapter 25 -- Serpent In the Camp**

Skywalker had never seen the encampment so eerily silent. Normally the camp buzzed with activity -- guards patrolling the borders, hunters and metal collectors departing on or returning from their journeys, women bustling about camp with small children or bundles of supplies (or sometimes both) in their arms, young ones scurrying about underfoot with gleeful laughter, banthas snorting and lowing as they plodded about, massifs growling and barking and snapping at heels... Even at night there was still the hushed gossip the night sentries exchanged, the calls of animals both wild and domestic, the crackle of fires, and the songs and chants of the Daughters of the Moons filling the cold night air. The empty, suffocating silence pressing down on the camp now like one of Dagobah's heavy fogs was frightening.

Cyclone snorted and shifted uneasily. Skywalker crooned soothingly to the bantha to calm him, but it was hard to project calmness when one was unsettled by the same sight.

"Looks like a ghost town," Han murmured. "You sure your tribe didn't just up and leave? Or that the Empire didn't get here first?"

"I sense them down there," Skywalker replied. "They are alive and present. But a great evil lurks among them."

"Kid, remember what we're here for," Han reminded him. "Rescue your Tusken sister and get out. Don't do anything stupid."

"I will do whatever is necessary to protect my people from the Black One," Skywalker replied firmly. "To do less would be shameful."

"Kid, I know you've learned a lot from Obi-wan and Yoda, but Vader has years of experience on you. I doubt you could beat him in a fight. Just... be careful." He seemed to sense that trying to talk Skywalker out of a confrontation would be futile in the end, and so had to settle for giving a word of caution.

"I will, Han," Skywalker promised.

Cyclone slowly padded down the dune and toward camp, instinctively angling for the banthas clustered on the settlement's edges. Skywalker felt the back of his neck prickle with unease. The beasts were unnaturally still... and there were too many for them all to belong to the tribe. Was this the work of...

His fear was realized when Cyclone reached the herd and began nudging a young bull with his muzzle. The creature was alive and awake but completely reactionless, its eyes glazed over as if with a sickness. And the gear strapped to its shoulders was not of the Redrock Tribe -- the stitching of the saddle and the snake's teeth adorning the harness were the work of the Serpent Tribe. Skywalker slid down from Cyclone's back and examined the bantha more closely.

"Oh dear..." worried Threepio. "The creature isn't... deactivated, is it?"

"It's still on its feet, Goldenrod," Han retorted.

"It has been drugged," Skywalker replied, prying open the bantha's lips and getting a whiff of its breath -- hot and rank, with a faint sour odor. He moved around the creature and felt its foreleg, frowning at the way the muscles twitched and spasmed beneath the hair and hide. "Demon's Fist, a fungus that grows in the sacred caverns. The healers use it to dull pain and keep a wounded Tusken from moving while they stitch a wound closed or bind a broken limb. It would take a great amount of it to drug a bantha, however... more than the Redrock Tribe could harvest in a moon-cycle. Only the Serpent Tribe grows so much Demon's Fist in their caverns... and ornaments their mounts with snake's fangs."

Han frowned. "Are they enemies of your tribe?"

"They are... fierce," Skywalker replied. "If you hear tales about Tuskens attacking outsiders and their homes, it is usually the work of the Serpent Tribe. But they are supposedly our allies now..."

Chewie growled and cuffed Skywalker's shoulder to get his attention, pointing. He looked up to see two scarlet-clad figures approaching the bantha herd, blood-colored robes streaming down from gleaming featureless helmets to cover their bodies. Both held slender pikes as weapons, and these hummed with energy as they glided toward the banthas.

"That's not Tusken garb," Skywalker noted.

"You think?" Han replied, hand sliding toward his pistol.

"Halt!" one of the red-clad beings shouted, skirting a small bantha cow to reach them. His pike was drawn and held back as if to impale Skywalker upon it.

Han pulled his blaster and fired once into the man's chest. He dropped like a tent with its supports pulled out, crimson robes billowing out as he fell. The other pulled a heavy rifle out from under his robes, but another shot from Han struck his arm and made him drop the weapon. A follow-up blast from Chewie's bowcaster felled him.

Skywalker stepped forward and bent over the first red-clad body. "Are they... Imperials?"

"Damn right they are, kid," Han replied. "They're Royal Guards. Usually they're only around when the Emperor's around."

"The Emperor?" he repeated.

"That's what I said," Han replied. "Why he'd be on this dirtball is anyone's guess, though. He's a recluse -- hardly ever leaves his palace."

Skywalker frowned at that news. He'd hoped to find the Black One here, not a hermit of an Emperor. Though if Vader truly served this Emperor as a lackey, perhaps they could take him prisoner and lure Vader out of hiding...

"I have an idea," he said, bending down and examining the smooth scarlet helm of the guard. "Help me unlatch this."

Han stared at Skywalker a moment, then seemed to catch on and bent down to help. "Good thinking, kid."

_Break..._

Wind-Dancer's words of warning -- and Vader's worst fears -- were confirmed the moment the speeder crested the rise of the last dune and brought them into view of the camp. The very air over the settlement crackled with the terror and despair the Emperor's presence instilled in every living being he encountered. It was like an insidious pressure squeezing the very hearts and lungs of its victims, forcing them to breathe in the same rhythm as their captor, their hearts to beat in time with his. And obviously the Tuskens weren't immune to its effects, for nothing in the camp stirred, as if out of fear that their captor would unleash his wrath upon them if they so much as breathed out of turn.

Wind-Dancer cocked her head to one side, as if listening. "The Temple of the Moons is abandoned. My sisters are gone. I pray they are simply hiding in the Wastes, and not worse."

"Why would the Emperor want to harass Sandpeople?" asked Biggs. "It's not like he has much to gain from conquering them..."

"He has something to gain," Vader corrected. "Skywalker."

"He's not even a Jedi yet, why would he want him?" demanded Hobbie.

"To claim him as an apprentice," Vader intoned. "Skywalker is strong in the Force -- immensely strong. The Emperor wishes to use Skywalker's power to crush the Rebellion and maintain his rule of the galaxy."

Leia glowered at Vader. "You act like what the Emperor plans to do is a terrible thing... yet it's what you plan to do to him as well."

Vader glowered back. "I plan to reclaim my son -- the son Obi-wan stole from me years ago. And I plan to rule the galaxy with my children as my equals, not my slaves. There can be nothing wrong in that..."

"Skywalker still sees you as a foe," Wind-Dancer reminded him. "How can you be certain he'll join you?"

"His sisters will convince him," Vader replied coolly.

Before they could reply to that declaration, the speeder drew to a stop. A party of four royal guards stepped forward, their sleek red helmets and impeccably maintained scarlet robes jarringly out of place among the primitive hide tents of the Tusken encampment. Vader stepped out of the speeder, motioning for the others to remain where they were while he spoke with the "welcoming party."

"The Emperor requests your presence," the lead guard informed him. "In the largest of the tents. Bring your captives with you."

Vader nodded. So their arrival was not unexpected. With a commanding gesture toward his troops and... guests, he strode after the guards, toward the biggest of the tents.

"The community tent?" wondered Wind-Dancer aloud. "Why is your Emperor in there? That's only for tribal gatherings..."

"Yeah, but the Emperor's got a bloated self-image," Wedge pointed out. "Only the biggest and best for him."

Vader ducked through the flap of the tent... and tensed instinctively, hand going for his lightsaber. The ramshackle -- could it even be called a building? -- shelter housed over fifty Tusken Raiders, all hooting and growling in their weird primitive language. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his weapon and braced himself for a lunge. They would charge him at any moment, weapons flashing, battle cries ripping the air...

But no Tusken so much as turned to face him. They were far more occupied amongst themselves -- conversing in what sounded like an astonished tone, hushing noisy children, shifting from foot to foot restlessly. And as his gaze wandered among the beings gathered, he realized that less than a third of the gathered Tuskens even had weapons in hand. In fact, the only ones armed seemed to be the ones at the fringes of the crowd, the fearsome-looking warriors in black snakeskin and chains of teeth...

_Guards, _he realized. _Whatever is happening here? Is the tribe being held prisoner?_

At last a Tusken warrior turned to face him. The native stared a moment, as if unsure if his eyes were working properly, then cried out and scrambled for his weapon. Several other Sandpeople, alerted by his cry, also drew blades. Vader ripped his saber free and prepared to ignite it...

But a commanding shout in an unfamiliar tongue stilled the Tuskens, and they stayed their hands, though they continued to stare at him in terror.

"Ah, welcome, Lord Vader."

He raised his gaze toward the center of the crowd, where a fire blazed -- why the Tuskens would even NEED a fire on a desert world was beyond him -- and a cluster of robed figures gathered as if to address the assembly, flanked by scarlet-robed guards and white-armored stormtroopers. Four of them were also Tusken, two wearing chains of teeth and wrappings interspersed with bands of snakeskin, one wearing plain robes and a simple clay amulet, and the fourth in a beautifully embroidered robe and black snakeskin cloak. The fifth was human, clad in a hooded black robe and holding his fingers steepled before him as he stared into the fire, as if it contained the deepest secrets of the universe and only he could puzzle them out. The Tuskens, upon seeing Vader, barked fearfully and either shrank back or drew weapons, but a simple gesture on the Emperor's part made them lower their gaderffis.

"I see you managed to bring one of your children with you," he rasped in pleasure. "At last I meet the daughter of Vader."

Leia looked upon the Sith Lord with intense revulsion.

"But the other still eludes you," the Emperor sneered. "Are you truly incapable of tracking down and reclaiming a mere boy?"

"He is here, on Tatooine," Vader replied evenly. "I will find him..."

"No need," the Emperor replied dismissively. "Are you so Force-blind as to miss him? He is here in this tent, though he thinks himself clever enough to try and hide from me."

Wind-Dancer gasped, and Leia and the Rogues tensed visibly. A stab of mingled surprise and alarm shot through Vader. His son WAS here! How could he have missed him? He let his gaze scour the tent as much as he could without turning his head, extending the Force to feel his son's presence. Where was he...

A nerve-rending howl ripped from the Emperor's throat, and for a moment Vader wondered if the old Sith's wits had finally snapped entirely. But the howl descended into a series of guttural sounds -- Tusken words. The tribe reacted, first whispering amongst themselves, then shouting and cheering. Their fear had given way to relief and triumph, and Vader could only wonder what his master had just promised them...

Not for long, though. "It would seem, Lord Vader, that you have made a villian of yourself to these people. A night-demon, as they would put it. And it seems they have accepted my offer to avail themselves of this perceived threat."

"What do you mean?" demanded Vader.

"I mean that you must be destroyed," Palpatine replied, a touch of regret in his voice. "It is indeed a shame, Lord Vader. Given time and discipline, you could have been the greatest of the Sith Lords. However, you have let the fatal flaw of the Jedi soften you... the flaw of compassion. Compassion for your children, and for the very people who see you as a monster -- yes, I know of the bargain you struck with the Daughters of the Moons to end the corruption of their foes amongst the tribe. I'm not stupid, as much as you like to think. It is time you were replaced with a worthy heir to the Sith... with your own offspring."

Wind-Dancer jerked as if shot. Leia gasped. Vader felt as if someone had kicked him in the gut. The Emperor would replace him with his own son? Had this been his intention from the very beginning?

"Skywalker, I know you are here," the Emperor said in a commanding tone. "Step forward from your hiding place, and strike the one you know as the Black One down. Only you can defeat him. It is your destiny."

A red-robed guard to Palpatine's right made to move forward, but his comrade gripped his shoulder and hissed something indecipherable at him. He jerked away and continued forward, pulling something from beneath his robes... a lightsaber.

"Clever disguise, young Skywalker," chuckled the Emperor. "Now fulfill the prophecy of your tribe, and strike the murderer of your father down!"

"Skywalker, no!" shouted Leia -- just as a rough hand clapped over her mouth. Wind-Dancer growled and the Rogues yelped in surprise as Tusken warriors in black snakeskin dragged them away. The entire tribe backed away, leaving an impromptu arena for Skywalker and Vader to face off.

Skywalker regarded Vader calmly through the eye-slit of his red helmet. "I've waited a long time for this, Black One."


	26. Demon Revealed

**Chapter 26 -- Demon Revealed**

Skywalker couldn't stay his trembling as he ignited his lightsaber and deliver his challenge to the Black One, couldn't keep the breathless excitement and terror out of his voice. This was it -- he would avenge his father's and master's death, all in one fell swoop. He would rid his tribe of the dangers of the Black One and save his sisters and friends. And when Vader had atoned for his crimes in blood, he would slay the Emperor... and rid the galaxy of his stain forever.

Something pulsed frantically in the back of his mind, shrilling fiercely that this was wrong, but he pushed it aside. He couldn't have doubts now, not when victory was so close!

"I'm going to make you pay for all you have done," he declared, stepping forward into the space conveniently cleared as the tribe pulled back to give the combatants room to maneuver.

"Skywalker, you don't know what you are doing," Vader intoned, raising his own weapon in what he recognized as a defensive stance.

"I know well what I do, Black One," he replied. "I avenge my father. And I rescue my people from your cruelty." And he charged, belting out a battle cry and thrusting with his saber.

Vader barely moved from his position, only swatted the thrust aside as easily as if he were chasing away an annoying insect. Skywalker staggered, snarling in frustration, and whirled to face the Black One again.

"Skywalker, you do not understand the truth," Vader told him. "Your father lives."

"He lies," the Emperor sneered, and Skywalker could feel the truth ringing from the old man's words. "Your father no longer exists. Vader destroyed him. Destroyed him and your mother both!"

With another roar Skywalker hacked at Vader, his sapphire blade ringing against Vader's ruby saber. Vader blocked and parried, his movements slow, almost gentle, as he defended himself. He made no move to go on the offensive -- even though Skywalker felt that he could easily overpower and slay him if given the chance. Somehow, that only angered him more. This monster was toying with him!

"Skywalker, hear the truth, and hear it now," urged Vader, sidestepping another strike. "I did not kill your father. I AM your father."

_Break..._

Wind-Dancer did not resist as the foul servants of the Sons of the Suns dragged her and her companions out of the community tent, though Leia cursed and the Rogues fought and struggled valiantly. Outwardly it might have appeared that she had surrendered herself to her fate, but in reality she was considering how to work herself and her brother out of this quandry. The battle between Skywalker and the Black One was not hers to fight -- her brother had to face his demons alone. Her energy was better spent in aiding her people than in fretting over something she could not affect.

"You can treat a Daughter of the Moon with more respect," she said sharply to the warrior who held her right arm as he stepped on her robes, making her stumble.

The warrior barked a laugh. "Respect a Daughter of the Moon? Your tribe is indeed backward! In our tribe the women know their true place -- they serve us, they bear our sons, they attend to our needs. The Daughters pay their respects to the Sons rather than grinding them under their heels. And you, too, shall learn to respect us as you rightfully should." This last was said with a leer and a chuckle.

Wind-Dancer did not honor his insult with a reply. Instead, she leaned slightly to her left, forcing the guard holding her left arm to change his direction slightly... enough to take her closer to Leia.

"Sister," she whispered in the outsider language, "when you hear me shout, imitate me as best you can. Pass this on to the others."

"Quiet!" bellowed her captor, kneeing her in the back.

His command was too late, of course. Leia whispered to Wedge, who in turn passed the message on to Biggs and Hobbie. Wind-Dancer waited until their passage took them past the last tent on the outskirts of the camp, then flung her head back and howled a command, a command that was echoed by her companions, albeit rather badly -- though not bad for outsiders, she supposed.

"What the..." was all the guard on her left had time to get out.

A cacophany of barks and howls filled her ears, and she jerked loose from her captors and sprinted away just as a pair of the Redrock Tribe's massifs sprang for their throats. The Serpent Tribe guards went down screaming under a stampede of heavy paws and a rain of teeth and claws, overwhelmed by sheer animal strength. Leia, Wedge, and Hobbie broke away easily and followed Wind-Dancer to safety, but Biggs didn't get away in time and paid for his delay with a savage bite to his arm. Cradling the wounded limb, he joined the others as they made their escape.

"It's not bad, it's not bad," he insisted as Wind-Dancer grabbed his arm to inspect the wound.

"I thought those things were drugged!" Wedge protested, watching the massif frenzy with horrified awe.

"I do not doubt that they were," Wind-Dancer replied as she tore open Biggs' sleeve to survey the extent of the damage, "but the Daughters of the Moons have never been very trusting. We have spent many moon-cycles dusting the massifs' meat rations with Demon's Fist -- just a dusting, but enough to let them build an immunity to it."

Leia smiled, impressed. "Smart thinking."

"Nice, but what are we gonna do now?" Hobbie demanded. "While we stand here gabbing, Skywalker's probably getting slaughtered..."

"Vader won't kill him," Biggs replied, wincing as Wind-Dancer bound his arm tightly with strips torn from her own sleeve. "Remember, he wants Skywalker for himself."

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't, huh?" Wedge groused. "If he kills Vader, he kills his own father and the Emperor makes a Sith out of him. If he doesn't kill Vader, Vader still makes a Sith out of him. Either way... we lose."

"There is nothing we can do," Wind-Dancer replied, "except have faith in Skywalker and his abilities." She gestured in the direction the guards had been taking them. "That way."

"Why?" Hobbie demanded. "That's where they were taking us in the first place."

"And doubtless my sisters among the Daughters of the Moons are there," she retorted. "I must know if they are all right."

Leia squeezed her arm. "I'll go with you."

"Me too," Wedge added, clasping her shoulder.

"Count me in," Biggs chimed.

Hobbie rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll go too. Nothing else to do..."

"Very good," Wind-Dancer replied. "Come!"

_Break..._

Skywalker felt every muscle and nerve in his body freeze in stunned horror at Vader's announcement. His mind struggled to wrap itself around what had just come out of that skullish mask. He couldn't have just said that, could he?

The Emperor gave a cold, clotted laugh. "He lies, Skywalker. You heard the truth from Obi-wan, did you not? This man murdered your father... and must pay for his crimes."

Those words prodded him back into action, and with a hoarse cry he lunged again. Vader batted the attack aside, causing him to stumble and fall to his knees. He seethed in fury as he scrambled back to his feet. Why didn't he take the opportunity to strike then? Did he see fit to toy with both his mind and his body?

"Skywalker, I speak the truth," Vader insisted. "I was once Anakin Skywalker... but I took on the name of Darth Vader when I became a Sith. Search your feelings, you know it to be true..."

"Lies," hissed the Emperor. "He lies! Strike him down, Skywalker! He can only atone for his crimes with his own blood!"

Under normal circumstances, Skywalker might have questioned why the Emperor was suddenly taking his side in this matter, so quick to turn his back on his servant. But rage and battle-lust clouded his mind, and with another warrior's cry he charged the Black One, sapphire ringing against ruby as their blades met again and again in thunderous crashes.

_Help me, Obi-wan! _he pleaded. _Help me avenge you and my father! I can't do this alone!_

_Break..._

Just outside the tent, Chewbacca lifted a flap of hide just enough for a man in the scarlet robes of an Imperial Guard to wriggle out. Even in the sleek robes and armor, Han Solo managed to exude an aura of all-around scruffiness, though the sand and dirt liberally dusting the front of his robes didn't really help matters.

"Thought I'd never get out of there," he grumbled. "Lucky everyone seems occupied with that fight. C'mon Chewie, we've got to set up a distraction!"

Chewie barked his agreement and gestured toward the banthas.

"They're drugged, remember?" Han snapped. "Don't see how a bunch of stoned banthas are going to help us..."

Chewie growled.

"Huh? Well... I guess it's worth a shot, isn't it?"

Man and Wookie went to the closest of the beasts and began shoving and kicking at it, struggling to get it moving. The beast snorted languidly but otherwise didn't budge. Han treated the creature to a rather virulent string of curse words for good measure, which only earned a rather dubious look from one glazed eye.

"Stang it, Chewie, this isn't working."

Something just behind Han grunted, and he whirled to see Skywalker's bantha eyeing him curiously. Upon realizing he had the human's attention, Cyclone butted him -- not hard, but hard enough to push him onto his backside.

"Not now, stupid," Han grumbled.

Chewie's eyes lit up with a sudden epiphany, and he reached down and grabbed Han's force pike.

"Chewie?"

The Wookie barked.

"Herd mentality? What's that got to do with anything?"

In response Chewie grabbed Han's arm and dragged him around behind Cyclone, out of the beast's path. Then he raised the force pike and jabbed it hard into the beast's rump.

With a bugling cry of shock and pain Cyclone lurched forward in what could loosely be termed a gallop, knocking Han and Chewie over in his panic. The rest of the herd seemed to spring to life at that moment -- confused, startled, but terrified of whatever threat Cyclone was sounding the alarm over, they staggered and tripped over one another in their haste to flee. Chewie and Han barely made it out of the bedlam without injury.

"Whew!" Han gasped, watching a young calf lope past with a bawl. "Nice job, Chewie. Think it'll work?"

Chewie shrugged with a growl.

"I sure hope you're right."

_Break..._

Leia expected the worst when they finally found the cavern where the Daughters of the Moons were being held captive -- and so was startled to find the entrance to the cavern completely unguarded. A line of banthas had been tethered close to the cave's entrance, but of guards themselves there was no sign. Leia wondered if this was to be taken as a good sign or a bad omen. The Rogues were similarly uneasy, but Wind-Dancer seemed unconcerned.

"It's quiet," Wedge said nervously. "Could it be a trap?"

"No," Wind-Dancer replied. "It is safe. I would sense it if there was danger here." And she cupped her hands around her veil in the general vicinity of her mouth and gave an eerie, piercing call.

A petite young Tusken woman emerged from the cavern, her priestess robes gray with dust. She gave a startled cry upon seeing Wind-Dancer and rushed out to meet her. Wind-Dancer accepted the embrace, laughing softly.

"You're alive!" the young Daughter of the Moon exclaimed. "We feared we had lost you..."

"The trouble with men, young Moon-Shadow, is that they constantly underestimate the Daughters because they are women," Wind-Dancer replied. "How are the others?"

"Well and good," Moon-Shadow replied. "Storm-Chaser's son grows strong. Blue-Dragon has been leading us since Palpatine slew Star-Thief, but..."

"But what?" prompted Wind-Dancer. "Blue-Dragon is an excellent leader. She will make a good Eldest Daughter..."

"But she wishes you to lead now," Moon-Shadow finished.

Leia couldn't be sure, as Wind-Dancer's veils obscured her face, but from the way her head reared back she certainly appeared to be gaping. "What?"

"You are the wisest of us," Moon-Shadow insisted. "You know much about the outsiders -- you even speak their tongue! Please, lead us as the Eldest Daughter. Lead us to victory against this Palpatine and the Sons of the Suns."

Wind-Dancer struggled to reply.

"Wind-Dancer," Leia told her, struggling to find the right words in the Tusken language so that Moon-Shadow could understand her as well, "I haven't known you long. But you're a smart woman, and you care for the tribe very much. You'll be a good leader."

She hesitated, then nodded. "I will." She regarded the banthas now. "Where are the guards?"

"Drugged and bound in the cave," Moon-Shadow replied, a defiant smile clearly evident in her voice. "They think we're weak and stupid because we're women. We showed them, didn't we?"

Wind-Dancer laughed. "Indeed you did. Take their weapons, then find staffs, sharp stones, anything you can use as a weapon. We will fight Palpatine and the warriors of the Serpent Tribe."

"What are they saying?" asked Biggs.

"They're going to attack the Emperor and his allies," Leia translated.

"But that's suicide!" Hobbie protested.

"If you'd rather stand and watch, be my guest," Leia retorted. "Just stay out of the way so we can do our job."

"Count me in," Wedge offered, unholstering his blaster. "I don't know much about the Tuskens, but if they're anything like Skywalker, then they deserve our help."

"Me too," Biggs added. "They're a lot more than the monsters I used to see them as. Skywalker's proven that. And even with a bum arm I'm sure I can help."

"Thank you," Wind-Dancer told them gratefully. "Help me arm my sisters, then we'll strike."

Hobbie huffed and followed behind as their party retreated into the cavern. "I'm going to regret this."

_Break..._

Palpatine didn't bother to hide an exultant grin as he watched Vader and Skywalker duel, red and blue light flashing upon ebony and blood-red armor, sparks falling like a glowing rain as their weapons impacted again and again. Skywalker's rage poured off of him in almost visible waves, practically bleeding from every pore of his body. His hatred for Vader fed power into his veins... and at the same time it bound him more surely than any chains or restraints invented by mortal hands. Very soon the final link of the chain would be forged... and the lock would snap shut the moment his blade struck home and Vader fell at his own son's hands.

_You will have your desire soon, Skywalker, _he laughed silently. _And as your father did before you, you will learn too late to be very careful what you wish for._

A distorted cry brought gasps and cheers from the Tuskens as the tip of Skywalker's blade glanced off Vader's upper right arm, sparks spitting from the smoking rift that exposed gleaming metal and twisted wires. Triumph, joy, bloodlust... the emotions of the tribe radiated throughout the tent like heat waves from the desert sands, and all unknowingly they fed Skywalker's own rage and thirst for vengeance. Skywalker had come to rescue his tribe... and his tribe would work to bring about his fall from grace.

How ironic... but the Emperor delighted in irony, so all was well.

"Good," he chuckled as Skywalker forced Vader back a pace, then another. "Good. Weaken him... keep fighting him..."

"No!" Vader hissed, sidestepping another jab of Skywalker's weapon. "Skywalker, listen to me..."

"No, Skywalker, listen to ME," the Emperor cut in, his normally harsh rasp of a voice becoming a soothing purr. "Vader destroyed your father, destroyed your mother, left you an orphan. He will be your doom now, as he was the doom of so many others. Kill him now, before he has that chance."

Vader hesitated, and the Emperor's grin widened like a fissure opening in the earth. _Keep denying it, fool. The more you protest, the more your son will resist you._

Skywalker shifted his weight from one foot to the other, saber held at the ready, awaiting an opening to strike. The tribe watched in hushed wonder, tension vibrating in every body. Vader was as still as a mountain, silent save the electronic whoosh of his respirator. The Emperor watched, a thrill of pleasure coursing through his twisted body. Now was the moment... now everything would proceed as he had forseen...

"I will not deny it," Vader said at last, lowering his weapon. "I destroyed your family, Skywalker. I as good as killed them."

The Emperor jerked as if struck by lightning. This wasn't what he had forseen!

Skywalker cocked his head to one side, almost animal-like, as he advanced forward a wary step. "Then tell me how they died."

"By the power of the dark side." His voice was lower than usual, heavy with grief. "Your mother and I were very much in love... a love forbidden by the Jedi Order. When I had a vision of her dying in childbirth, I sought to help her. But I could not go to the Jedi -- they would have expelled me from the Order had they discovered our bond. And their only counsel was to accept what was coming, to not fear the loss I sensed." His weapon-arm hung loosely at his side. "I could not do it. I could not bear to lose her. I had to save her... and the Emperor promised that the power of the Sith could save her from death."

"Skywalker, strike him down!" cried the Emperor, the thrill flooding his body now one of terror. "He's only distracting you!"

"No," Skywalker insisted. "Let him finish."

"Your mother came to me on the fire world of Mustafar," Vader continued. "She begged me to turn from the path I had taken. In my rage, thinking she had sided with the Jedi, my new enemies, I attacked her." Silence, and had the Emperor not known any better he would have thought Vader was collecting himself before proceeding. "The moment she died... the Jedi I had once been died with her. In that moment, I destroyed Anakin Skywalker and became Darth Vader."

Skywalker stared, his weapon wavering.

"You see?" the Emperor said shrilly, jumping at the chance to salvage the situation. "He admits it! He killed your mother and destroyed your father! For that he deserves death! Kill him now!"

Skywalker's gaze moved from Vader to the Emperor, then back to Vader. Then he lowered his blade to the side.

"No," he told the Sith Master. "I see the truth now. I feel the truth now. And I won't kill him. I will not shed the blood of my family. It isn't the Tusken way."

"Chaos take the Tusken way!" Palpatine swore. "You are not Tusken!"

Too late the Emperor realized he'd made a serious error. For Skywalker bristled at that accusation.

"Not Tusken by blood," he said coolly, "but Tusken by heart and soul. These will always be my people. You cannot change that."

Palpatine's face twisted in a savage snarl, and lightning flared in his palm. Fools! Fools the pair of them! He had sought to cast Vader aside in favor of his son, and in the process lost both. For Vader would never return to his side now, not having suffered this betrayal. His only hope now was to kill both of them, set the tribes upon them and eliminate them before they turned upon him. Perhaps with Skywalker's sister, the princess, he would have better luck...

The packed earth beneath his feet trembled, and briefly he wondered if Tatooine was prone to groundquakes. An instant later that possibility was dispelled... by a bawling, wild-eyed bantha charging through the tent wall, tearing through the hide and scattering Tuskens before it. Another wall of the tent collapsed entirely before a bantha that had snagged the flap of the tent door in its horns, and still another bantha plowed doggedly forward until it had crashed through the firepit, making its own hair blaze briefly. The tension of before gave way to panic and confusion as Tusken and Imperial alike fought their way free from the bedlam of stampeding beasts and the collapsing tent.

A female voice rang loud and clear over the chaos, commanding, challenging, full of authority. And with a moment of startling clarity the Emperor recognized it.

_Well, Princess, you certainly are a woman of many talents, _he thought as his guards encircled him and escorted him away.

_Break..._

"People of the Redrock Tribe, you've been tricked!" Leia spoke in the Tusken language, and though her words were oddly stilted as she struggled with some of the more unfamiliar words, they still rang with emotion. "The Emperor and the Sons of the Suns of both your tribe and the Serpent Tribe have joined forces to take power from you. They've held your tribe under their spell, they've sought to destroy your Daughters of the Moons... and now they seek to destroy Skywalker, your hero! Will you let them?"

Skywalker felt his heart nearly burst with pride as the Tuskens bellowed in response, fury lacing their cries as they realized the depths of the Emperor's treachery. Now he saw why so many looked up to Leia as a leader.

Someone grabbed his arm and dragged him outside just as the community tent came crashing down. The folds of hide jerked and writhed as those who had been trapped inside struggled to get out. All around the camp, blaster fire whined as the Imperials engaged the Tuskens, but despite their superior armor and firepower they were badly outnumbered. The Serpent Tribe's warriors, likewise, struck back, and Skywalker was startled to see the Serpent Tribe's Sons of the Suns among them, armed and doing battle. But despite their ferocity and prowess in battle, they were no match for the righteous anger of the Redrock Tribe.

"You all right?" asked Wedge, letting go of Skywalker's arm.

"I am all right," he assured him. "Are you?"

"Great now that we've found you!" Wedge exclaimed. "You gave us all a scare..."

Someone screamed a war cry, and Skywalker whirled in time to see Weed charging Vader, gaderffi raised. Vader, in turn, lifted his saber to defend himself.

"Weed, Father, no!"

Weed skidded to a halt, barely avoiding skewering himself on Vader's lightsaber. Vader hesitated, then lowered the weapon.

"THAT'S your father?" gaped Weed. "I thought he was a night-demon!"

"He's not a demon," Skywalker explained. "Long story."

"Can't wait to hear it," Weed replied. "By the way, name's no longer Weed. I had my adulthood ceremony while you were gone -- it's Star-Killer now."

"A friend of yours, Skywalker?" inquired Vader.

"Yes," Skywalker answered, then fell silent. He'd thought of Vader as his mortal foe for so long... and suddenly thinking of him as not just an ally, but as family, was so strange...

He should have been angry, he supposed. Angry at Obi-wan and Wind-Dancer for letting him believe Vader had murdered Anakin Skywalker, angry at the spirits... the Force... whoever ruled his life for giving him the Emperor's right-hand man as a father. But he was surprised to find he felt no anger, not now that the shock had died down. He felt only a sense of acceptance -- not calm exactly, but acceptance.

"Skywalker, Palpatine is getting away!" shouted Wind-Dancer.

He whirled. The Emperor's collection of scarlet-robed guards were helping him into a nearby landspeeder, doubtless the one Vader and Leia had used to reach the tribe. Palpatine... a creature of vilest darkness, even darker than Vader...

_He's the true Dark One, _he realized. _He's the one I am to destroy. Not Vader._

A black-gloved hand clamped onto his shoulder, startling him.

"We take him together," Vader snarled. "He is strong in the dark side. Only together can we defeat him."

He nodded. "Right."

The Emperor had just climbed into the passenger seat of the landspeeder when Skywalker's battle-cry alerted him, and he whirled to face the young Jedi as he charged. Snarling, Palpatine lifted one hand as if to cast a spell...

...and white-hot pain filled Skywalker, mind and body, as blue lightning bridged the gap between them.

"Die, Skywalker," Palpatine snarled. "Die as your mother did when I deceived your father into selling his soul to me. Die as you should have eighteen years ago on the moment of your birth!"

"NO!"

That last cry came from Vader, a wild howl of anger and deseperation more frightening than any Tusken battle call. There was a flash of scarlet, a rasping screech of agony... and a blessed calm as the lightning ceased as quickly as it had begun. Skywalker found himself lying in the sand without any memory of how he'd gotten there, and he struggled to sit up, smoke drifting off of his robes and armor.

Gasps and whispers filled his ears, and he realized that the fighting among the Tuskens had all but ceased. Every masked face now turned to the Emperor, who clutched his right arm just below the wrist with his left hand. Above that wrist was only a smoking stump, seared black by Vader's glowing blade. Vader himself was on his knees near the 'speeder, clutching his shoulder where a guard had rammed his pike between the plates of armor and into his collarbone. Blood glistened in a thin stream on his armor, steady but not spurting, which meant that the blow at least hadn't hit an artery...

"No blood," someone behind Skywalker murmured, and the phrase carried throughout the assembly. Skywalker was about to protest when he realized they weren't talking about Vader, but about the Emperor. For though his hand had been severed from his body, he didn't bleed a drop.

And the tribe believed that night-demons didn't bleed.

"Kill him!" cried Stone-Shadow, raising his gaderffi high. "Destroy the demon! Destroy him!"

The Emperor's eyes went wide as he realized the danger he was in, and he lunged for the controls of the landspeeder. His attempt at escape came too late -- both the Redrock and the Serpent Tribes descended upon him with the savage ferocity of crazed krayt dragons. Lightning flared and force pikes flashed as he and his guards tried to defend themselves, but for every Tusken that fell ten more took his place.

Vader staggered away from the bedlam, his shoulder still bleeding and a freshly bleeding slash glistening over his ribs, as his master met his gruesome, but not undeserved, fate.

Someone grabbed Skywalker in a tight hug, and it took him a second to realize it was Leia.

"Luke, I'm so glad to see you again," Leia murmured.

"Leia..." He held her tightly, relief flooding him. "You're all right."

A hand clapped his shoulder, and he turned to see Han grinning at him. "Hey kid, how about a word of warning next time you try something stupid?"

Chewie swept all three of them up in a bone-crushing hug, growling happily.

"Sky-Walker!"

He turned as best he could in Chewie's grip to see two figures running toward them -- Red-Dragon and Moon-Blossom. Red-Dragon's arm bled freely from a wound, but he seemed not to notice it. With a rush of joy Skywalker wriggled free of Chewie's grip and ran toward them.

"Sky-Walker, you have grown," Red-Dragon rumbled, grabbing him by the shoulders and looking him up and down. "I don't know how, but you've grown. I see it in the way you carry yourself."

"I have grown," he admitted. "In many ways. I'll have to tell you about them."

Moon-Blossom pulled him close and embraced him, less roughly than Chewie but no less enthusiastically. "I thought I had lost you, son..."

"Mother," he complained, feeling his cheeks heat up.

A vague unease settled into his shoulderblades, as if he were sensing someone else's gaze upon him, and he turned to see Vader regarding their reunion. A bit flustered, he broke away from Red-Dragon and Moon-Blossom and motioned for his father to come join them. The Tuskens shrank back a little at his approach, but Vader made no move to threaten them but only stood silently at Skywalker's side.

"Father... this is Red-Dragon and Moon-Blossom," he introduced. "They raised me as their son." To his foster parents he said "This is my father, Darth Vader... once known as Anakin Skywalker."

Vader only nodded in reply. Red-Dragon returned the nod solemnly.

"Tell him he should be proud of you, Sky-Walker," Red-Dragon told him. "You have fulfilled your destiny, young one, and the prophecy of the Sons of the Suns. You are a worthy son in all respects."

Skywalker blushed beneath the helmet that still covered his face. "Red-Dragon says... you should be proud of me," he said by way of translation.

Vader nodded again. "I am, Skywalker. I truly am. For you have become a better man than I can hope to be."

Skywalker had nothing to say in reply to that statement.

"Why are we still standing around like idiots?" demanded Star-Killer, intruding on the moment. "We've won a great victory today! We should celebrate!"

Skywalker couldn't agree more.

_Break..._

By the time night laid its cold, dark claim upon the land, many of the events set into motion that day found themselves drawn to a close. The last remnants of the Serpent Tribe had been sent back to their encampment, with a promise from Black-Massif that he would keep his priests under control from here on out. The Redrock Tribe's own Sons of the Suns were now under the direct supervision of Chief Stone-Shadow and would remain so until they could prove themselves free from treachery and corruption; White-Serpent was outraged at this but was powerless to argue. The damages and mess inflicted upon the camp by the battle and stampede were cleaned up, bodies buried, banthas calmed down, and Imperial captives turned over to Leia and the Rogues to be dealt with as they saw fit. The body of the Emperor was burned with proper rites from the Daughters of the Moons to prevent his spirit from returning to haunt the tribe -- Skywalker had advised the Rebels and Vader that it wouldn't be wise to interfere with the ritual.

And as for the hopeless tangle that was Skywalker's family... it resolved itself despite his fears.

The victory bonfires of the tribe's celebration were still blazing strongly when Skywalker slipped away from the revels and ran for the outskirts of camp, threading his way between the shaggy bodies of the dozing banthas to find the landspeeder. Vader was loading it with supplies, carefully eyeing each pack as if trying to determine what was most necessary for survival and what was just dead weight.

"Father?"

Vader turned. "Do not try to stop me, Skywalker. I must go. I'm not welcome here."

"Why, though? I had not finished speaking to you." He stepped forward, one hand raised as if hoping to hold him back. "There is so much more I must know. I thought I had lost you, and I don't want to lose you again."

Vader regarded Skywalker for a long moment. "I searched for you and your sister for years, Skywalker. I intended to reclaim you and rule the galaxy with you at my side. But when you and Leia faced the Emperor... I saw something of myself there, a part of myself that belonged to a younger man... who wanted only to free slaves, to help others, to fight evil. A part of myself that died long ago." He slung the bag he was holding into the back of the speeder. "I cannot force my children to join me. I see that now. I cannot twist them as the Emperor twisted me. I refuse to do so. And because of that, we must now part company."

"But Father..."

"Skywalker, I am not your father. We share blood, but your heritage lies with your people." He nodded at the encampment. "You said so yourself -- you are Tusken. And you will always be so, despite what anyone else says."

"You can remain with us," Skywalker insisted. "You can..."

"No, Skywalker. Your life is taking you down a path I cannot travel. It is too late for me... but not too late for you." He scrutinized his load, seemed to judge it to be enough, and climbed into the pilot's seat. "Return to your Jedi Master and finish your training, then reinstate the Jedi Order. Repair the damage a misguided fool wrought. Be the man I failed to be."

Skywalker opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on his lips. Finally he blurted "Where will you go?"

"To the spaceport," Vader replied. "News of the Emperor's death will not be spread until Leia and the Rogues leave the planet; I will be able to secure transport and be away from Tatooine before the Empire begins to crumble. From there... wherever the Force takes me, I suppose."

On a whim Skywalker reached up and grabbed the crescent-moon amulet Wind-Dancer had given him long ago. Pulling it over his head, he hurried toward the speeder and thrust the trinket toward Vader.

"It's from our priestesses," he explained. "It has no protective charms... but it will be something to remember me by."

Vader accepted the amulet. "I will not forget, Skywalker. May the Force be with you... always."

"And with you, Father."

The speeder thrummed to life, then lurched forward, over the next dune and out of sight.

"Skywalker?"

He turned to see Leia and Wind-Dancer watching him, silver moonlight and amber firelight illuminating their robes and faces. His sisters... the two sides of his heritage, the two worlds he called his own...

"I thought I could bring him back," Skywalker murmured. "I thought I could convince him to stay."

"He has to choose his own path," Leia said softly, embracing him. "No one can choose it for him."

"You will see him again," Wind-Dancer assured him. "I am sure of it."

"Thank you," he told his sisters. "For everything."

The three of them enjoyed a moment of solitude together before turning back to the camp to rejoin the victory celebration.


	27. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Two years later..._

Deep in the Dune Sea of Tatooine, a luxury landspeeder glided across the sand with the regal grace of a sailboat, a metallic gleam of white against the dull gray-tan of the landscape. A sleek silver craft with a sky-blue canopy to shield its occupants from the cruelty of the sun, it gave the appearance of being untouched -- and untouchable -- by the harsh elements of this world. The craft's beauty was only further emphasized by its contrast with the smaller, blockier forms of the four green-gray military hoverbikes that flanked it, each carrying a pair of heavily armed New Republic soldiers.

The occupant of the speeder might have protested at both the extravagance of the vehicle and the necessity of an armed escort, but surprisingly there had been very little fuss. Then again, their destination might have had something to do with it.

The craft drew to a halt roughly ten meters from a lone figure in the sands, a rider astride a hulking bantha. Said rider, wrapped from head to foot in cloth wrappings and draped in rough-spun robes, bore a striking resemblence to the native tribes of Tatooine, but a careful observer might note the key differences between this figure and the Tusken Raiders. He wore a lightsaber at his hip and a bone pendant of a sun about his neck, for a few examples. And there was a distinct aura of power about the figure, as if he were experienced and talented beyond his physical appearance.

Leia Organa climbed out of the speeder and ran to meet the figure. Skywalker, likewise, vaulted down from Cyclone's back and sprinted forward to catch his sister in his arms, embracing her tightly.

"I missed you," he murmured.

"I missed you too," she replied, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Come," he invited, gesturing back in the direction he had come from. "We have a lot to catch up on."

With help from her brother she mounted Cyclone, and Skywalker climbed aboard behind her and urged the mount onward with a whistle. The landspeeder and hoverbikes trailed behind.

Over one more rise, and the encampment of the Redrock Tribe came into view. Little had changed in the time Leia had been gone -- maybe a few more tents added as new families had formed, maybe a few new calves among the bantha herd and bundled babies in the arms of the women. The community tent and Temple of the Suns still loomed in the center of the camp, with the Temple of the Moons glittering some distance from the rest of the camp. Banthas milled about freely, and children scurried eagerly among the adults, laughing and shouting. A party of dragon hunters were saddling their mounts in preperation for a hunt, and a cluster of women gossiped noisily as they scraped cactus fruit for the evening meal. The Tusken culture, unchanged and undisturbed for thousands of years, continued to hold strong.

And yet there was one major change that, in Leia's eyes, was the most important of all. On the outskirts of camp, not as distanced from the rest of the tents as the Temple of the Moons but still distinctly apart, was another tent as large as the community tent, bustling with activity. The beings that ducked in and out of the tent were an odd mix -- some Tusken, but others human, and still others assorted alien races. Some were young children, some teenagers, some well into middle age, but all wore the same humble robes... and many carried the same weapon at their waist that Skywalker did.

"The Jedi Academy," Skywalker noted.

"The Republic Senate maintains that it isn't much of an Academy," Leia said amusedly.

"It doesn't matter what the Senate thinks," Skywalker replied. "I can instruct my Padawans just as well on Tatooine as I can on any other world."

"That's very true." She slid down from Cyclone's back. "How is Master Yoda adjusting to the move?"

"Not well, to hear him talk," Skywalker replied, jumping down to join his sister. "He says that he survived battles with the Sith and the assassins of the Empire, but the sun will be his death." He chuckled softly. "But I think he likes it here. He gets along well with the tribe, at least."

"That's good. How is the tribe?"

"Doing well. Stone-Shadow is a grandfather now, and Wind-Dancer has taken a mate and expecting her first child. There have been no wars or attacks since we overthrew the Emperor." He patted Cyclone's side and let him wander off to join the rest of the herd, then walked toward the Jedi's tent. "How fares the Republic?"

"There's still portions of the Empire left to defeat," she replied. "But without the Emperor to keep the Empire bound into a single force, it's shattered into pieces... and each of those pieces will be far easier to defeat than a single vast army." She sighed wistfully. "There's also so much damage left to repair -- the Empire was cruel and ruthless, and it left a mess for the Republic to clean up. There's so much to do... and sometimes I don't know where we should start."

Skywalker nodded. "It's still so hard for me to grasp an entire galaxy beyond Tatooine sometimes. But I can imagine how you feel." He gazed at the tent that housed his Jedi Academy, watching Master Yoda address half a dozen children in a lesson of some sort, then seemed to change his mind and led Leia away, choosing instead to stroll around the camp. "What about Han? How is he faring?"

Leia smiled a little shyly. "Skywalker... we're engaged. We're going to be married."

Skywalker cocked his head to one side, the gesture she had learned meant a smile in the Tusken culture. "Wonderful, Leia! I'm happy for you. You two make a good match."

She arched an eyebrow. "Are you teasing me?"

"Oh no," he laughed. "I'd be much too frightened to tease a Supreme Chancellor."

She slapped his shoulder teasingly. "You ARE making fun of me!"

"Leia, I've known that Han has a good heart, even if he seems rough. Tuskens know how to see what's beyond the outside. Something I think outsiders have to learn over time." He hesitated, then spoke again. "What of... Vader? Have you heard anything about him?"

She took his hand in hers, threading her fingers through his own. "Skywalker... he hasn't tried to contact anyone. And there have been so many rumored sightings... but we can't prove any of them. I'm sorry, but we have no idea where he is."

He lowered his head, half in disappointment and half in thought. "Wherever he is... I hope he has found peace."

She offered a kindly smile, and together they continued to walk, oblivious to the activity of the camp and Academy as they talked and strolled.

_Break..._

_Skywalker?_

Skywalker remained relaxed and unmoving, maintaining his pose as he meditated, but a thrill of mingled surprise, excitement, and fear filled him at the contact. _Father?_

_Son... _ The touch of Vader's mind was faint but sure, clear in his mind even though it had to have come from thousands of light years away. _You have done well, my son._

_The Order lives, Father. It flourishes in the desert, and will soon be restored to glory. I... I hope you are proud of me?_

_More so than you can know, Skywalker. More so than you can know._

_Father... where are you?_

_I fear I cannot reveal that. There is a price upon my head, after all. I have grown fairly comfortable where I am and have no urge to run away again. But I am safe here. You need not fear for me._

_You could return here, Father. The tribe will keep you safe..._

_The tribe views me as a monster. And Skywalker... there are still too many memories. I cannot forgive the Tuskens for killing my mother, nor can I forgive myself for what I did in retaliation. I am sorry, but I cannot return to Tatooine._

_Father... will I ever see you again?_

A pause. _What does your heart tell you?_

_I... I think so... I hope so, at any rate..._

_Then we WILL see each other again. I swear it. Now, Skywalker, focus on what you need to do. And don't look back._

_Father..._

But the touch of his father's presence was gone.

"Spoke with Vader, did you?"

Skywalker opened his eyes to see Yoda gazing at him across the fire, a thoughtful look on his face. "Yes, Master. I... I asked him to come back. He refused."

Yoda nodded as if he'd expected this. "Once down the dark path you start, forever will it dominate your destiny. Made his choices your father has. Live with the consequences he must."

"So it's impossible for him to change?"

"Not impossible, but difficult. And always marked by the dark side will he be. Consumed him it has, and feel his effects forever he will." A sympathetic expression softened his wizened features. "But hope for him there remains... so long as hope for him you do."

Skywalker nodded. "Thank you, Master. I will keep hoping, then."

"Rest, Skywalker. Much work we have to do."

"Yes, Master," he replied. "We do."

**Author's Note**

The idea for this story was born at a family reunion, of all places. I discovered some Star Wars fans among my cousins there, and in talking to them (and hearing one of them do a dead-on Tusken impersonation -- wow!), I got to thinking about family ties... and how so much of who we are is defined by our family and our environment. Then, of course, I got to applying that to the Star Wars universe and the Skywalker family... and this happened.

The Tusken Raiders have always fascinated me. We see some intriguing snippets of their culture in the films, but not enough in my opinion. I think, like the Native Americans in the days of the Old West, they've been misrepresented as barbarians and savages. I imagine that sure, some of them might hate and attack the human settlers of Tatooine, but just like the Native Americans there must be friendly, peaceful tribes among them. And besides, wouldn't we be upset if total strangers claimed our backyard as their own, just as the Native Americans lost their land to the Europeans... and the Tusken Raiders suffered with interlopers on their own territory?

Much of the Tusken culture is my own invention. I drew on Native American culture for parts of it, and the concept of child-names was borrowed from Mercedes Lackey's "Dragon Jouster" books. Night-demons, likewise, were inspired by the Karsite demons in Mercedes Lackey's "Heralds of Valdemar" series. Go read her books, they're awesome!

This fic was two years in the writing, and while I had fun with it, I'm glad it's drawn to a close. I'm sorry if the last few chapters lacked in quality, but I really felt I'd run out of steam on this story. And I hate leaving things unfinished.

I think the close of "Walk Like Men" spells the end of Star Wars fanfiction for me, at least for awhile. After sticking with me for about six years and twenty-odd stories now, my Star Wars muse is run into the ground and demands a vacation. Plus the Transformers muse has moved in and parked itself on the couch -- as those of you who watch all my stories probably have noticed.

This isn't the end of Star Wars for me -- I still love the series. And I'm still planning a Star Wars/Transformers crossover for the near future. But I think it's time to move onto other projects and other things. Thanks for sticking with me this far, and I hope to revisit Star Wars territory and attempt another story in this fandom someday.

May the Force always be with you, my readers. Always.


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